


Mahogany and Teakwood

by never_the_rose



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Has Heterochromia, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Black Logic | Logan Sanders, Blood and Injury, Caring Logic | Logan Sanders, Changelings, Chromesthesia, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Good Friend, Crofters, Deland, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fantasy, Flowers, Friendship, Hanahaki Disease, Heartbreak, Hispanic Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, Language of Flowers, Love Triangles, M/M, Magical Realism, Martial Arts, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Sweetheart, Painting, Pixies, Romance, Seelie Court, Stetson University, Swearing, Swords, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unseelie Court, Unsympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 129,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/never_the_rose/pseuds/never_the_rose
Summary: "You've seen the posters. You know, the ones for missing kids. The ones hung on grocery store bulletin boards and gas station walls, dog-eared and ancient-looking under their scratched, yellowing glass. All those names and dates and blurry, weather-stained snapshots. Look at those faces sometime, really look. Because I’ll tell you a secret.It’s a lie.The ones who vanished without a trace? Missing for years, even decades…just gone, like they’ve dropped off the face of the earth? Those are Fae kidnappings.My name is Virgil Storm, and I was one of them."Virgil escaped from Arcadia after sixteen years of faery imprisonment, bearing colored rings around his pupils and the ability to sprout flowers from any substance. He thought he was free.Two years later, his faery master tracked him down.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 603
Kudos: 447





	1. Clematis

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose prefacing this with I Don't Write Fanfiction would be hypocritical of me. But it's true...I don't normally write fanfiction. This is the first one I've ever written, and honestly probably the only one I ever will. My personal writing that I'd like to get published one day takes precedence. 
> 
> I got into Sanders Sides about 2 years ago now, I think? Aside (ha) from just overall enjoying the acting, the humor, how the show handles certain topics...the characters themselves are very archetypal. Their established personalities are so dynamic and different from one another that you could drop any combination of them into nearly any problem, and a story would naturally grow out of it. I decided to drop them into the faery AU I've been constructing and see what happened.
> 
> I hope this story will be enjoyable to people who haven't watched Sanders Sides, but for those that do, there are plenty of scenes and phrases and easter eggs lifted from the show. Of course it needs saying that the main characters and any elements from the show itself belong to Thomas Sanders and co., and any song lyrics are in italics and belong to their respective artists. The faery elements and original characters are my own.
> 
> For the interested, the soundtrack (including all songs mentioned in the story) can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3WTmZ7PLy6zmi0OddTiaaJ?si=nFxxt6eeQMe5T_OUZZD5ng). 
> 
> Character artwork: [Virgil](https://www.instagram.com/p/CC2Ikg-nksx/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link), [Logan](https://www.instagram.com/p/CEPJtWFHabn/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)
> 
> I could not have finished this without my lovely beta readers: @ErinTeaNTravel, @gravity_54612, @Mad4him_76, and @ErinGower1. You guys have been my constant cheerleaders and encouragers :) Thank you so much!
> 
> Although the whole thing is written, because it is long, I plan to post a chapter at a time every Wednesday and Saturday. 
> 
> Please leave comments, I always appreciate feedback!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil enters Logan's apartment for the first time...and meets Remy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day

_i walk a lonely road  
the only one that i have ever known_

Virgil stepped into the strange apartment. 

It was quiet. Not a mere absence of sound, but a quiet that breathed deep and blanketed the senses like a nighttime pillow. It was a quiet that examined every scuff and rustle and soft exhalation with cool curiosity. It listened, with the hush of trees in the night. 

It watched, with the perilous regard of faeries.

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding; probably had been holding since leaving Ohio two days before. After multiple bus rides across multiple states and hours and hours of strangers and suitcases and stress…despite how it put his paranoid senses on edge, he was glad of the quiet, away from open spaces and curious eyes. 

But the apartment was also dark, and a little cold, and its owner was painfully conspicuous by his absence. 

The place belonged to a half-faery named Logan Ursae: who, according to the Youngstown Grimms, was a friend of the organization that they trusted to provide pursued changelings a place to run to and start over. 

Changelings like Virgil.

Virgil, who would rather be with his Ren Faire troupe back in Ohio. The reappearance of his old faery master had brought his scarce two years of freedom to an abrupt end.

The Grimms were a loose organization of former faery thralls; humans kidnapped as children, who’d lived in Arcadia for so long that their bodies absorbed faery magic and made them something not quite fae, but more than human. Blessed…or cursed, depending on who you asked…with strange and erratic and often dangerous powers. Those that joined the Grimms used those powers to help other humans escape and integrate, as best they could, back into the human world. 

And, occasionally, they worked to protect said thralls when their former faery masters came looking for them.

Now here Virgil stood, in some ordinary human apartment, owned by an absent half-blood with a human name, in some middle-of-nowhere city in hot, muggy Florida, a thousand miles from everyone he knew.

_Figures, the guy isn’t even here when I show up._ He tugged his oversized black plaid hoodie tighter around himself. _It’s not like I’m ever anyone’s top priority._

“Uh, hey?” he called, flipping a light switch. “Anyone home?”

Silence.

Virgil rolled his eyes.

Despite his relief at not having to answer questions or make small talk with a stranger, Logan’s absence unsettled him. What kind of person apparently regularly took in changelings on the run, but couldn’t be arsed to actually be around when they turned up on his doorstep? If Virgil’d had any other place to go, he’d have turned around and walked right back out the door on principle. 

Instead he huffed out a sigh and let his ratty duffle bag slide to the floor. He’d meet this mysterious Logan eventually; assuming, of course, that his pursuer didn’t track him down in the night and finish what he’d begun years ago in Arcadia.

_It would be no more than I deserve._

Logan Ursae’s apartment was spacious and clean, making Virgil uncomfortably aware of his own travel-mussed, unwashed state. Hopefully the half-faery wouldn’t care if he used the shower… _well, if he wanted to lay down rules, he should’ve been here to do it._

The foyer spilled into a modest living room, with a navy sectional couch and a low coffee table, several standing lamps, a hallway presumably leading to the bedrooms, and the dining space off in its own niche to the right. Practically every wall in the place housed a heavily-laden bookshelf or three; an inconceivable number of books to Virgil, who’d lived either on the road or on the run his whole life. He wandered to the oval dining table, trailing fingerpads across classy pale wood and a dark blue runner. 

A half empty water dish with ‘Nic’ spelled out in neat cursive sat against the far wall…but there were no other signs of pets. If Logan did have a dog or something, it was as absent as its owner. 

A low counter separated a small galley kitchen from the rest of the apartment, navy towels hanging evenly from the oven handle and blue, galaxy-themed pot holders hanging under the cabinets. 

The guy clearly had a thing for the color blue.

Even the curious scent that hung in the air smelled blue to Virgil’s changeling-sensitive nose, tickling at his senses in an explosion of color. Dark teal skies and rich bronze bark against a background of earthy brown, a combination that made his mind hazy in a pleasant way. Subtle and masculine, but more middle-note than the patchouli oil Virgil himself liked to wear. 

He inhaled slowly, unconsciously imagining that scent against a warm masculine neck, and wondered where the hell that thought came from. 

_Maybe you’re just gay_ , Virgil, he groused to himself.

In place of a television, Logan’s living room held a large, intricately carved wooden cabinet; the antique kind, waist-high, with drawers and two swinging doors. On top of this sat an old fashioned record player with a huge brass horn. The setup could have easily graced a 50s movie set; both cabinet and player were heavy and solid and gleamed with care. 

Virgil idly pawed through the impressive vinyl collection on the shelf above, recognizing a few artists, and then knelt to see if there were any more inside the cabinet.

“I’ll thank ye not to touch that,” a voice said.

Virgil’s heart skittered up into his throat. He whirled.

A creature no more than two feet tall leaned against the coffee table, tiny brown arms folded over a sturdy brown chest, covered by a tunic that looked to be messily stitched from several colored hand towels. Their feet were bare and covered in wispy brown hair. Gender was impossible to determine. 

Their face was framed by a mop of more wispy hair and a tall hat that, weirdly, looked like it had been made from burlap and a Starbucks cup. A pair of black sunglasses sat on a red, upturned nose, nearly obscuring a pair of black, beady, glaring eyes under expressive eyebrows. 

_Fae_ , Virgil’s mind whispered. _Fae, Fae, there’s a Fae in the house they’ll tell Deceit where I am what do I do…?_

No. He was overreacting. It was just a house brownie. A solitary. Generally harmless.

Virgil took a breath and relaxed his shoulders, which had tensed up at being startled.

“You always sneak up on people?” he asked, mirroring the small faery’s crossed-arm stance.

“You always go poking about in people’s houses?” the brownie countered in a high, sassy voice, the faintest hint of a baroque staining the syllables. 

“I’m not _poking_ ; I have a key. S’not my fault Logan’s not here—”

“I meant what’s behind you,” the brownie nodded toward the cabinet, “ye daft changeling. I know the Bear is expecting company. Do what ye want in the rest of the apartment, but keep clear of my _house.”_

_Oh._

Virgil shuffled away from the cabinet, trying to recall what little he knew about domestic Fae. _Don’t insult them. Leave gifts; never leave them payment. Don’t watch them do chores. Don’t give them clothes._

Nothing about trying to make conversation with one; unfortunate, since Virgil sucked at making conversation in general. 

“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Just…don’t like being surprised.”

The brownie peeked over their sunglasses… _why would a Fae wear sunglasses?_ …and ran beady eyes over Virgil’s faded purple hair and messy eyeshadow, his ripped jeans and faded black hoodie, seemingly content to let him squirm under the scrutiny.

“Um, no offense,” Virgil muttered, rubbing his neck. “But your kind don’t usually show themselves to humans.”

The brownie plopped onto the coffee table. 

“Well, I see no humans here,” they quipped, leaning forward. “Do you, changeling?”

Virgil instinctively ducked his head, letting his bangs obscure his eyes…eyes that, like all changelings, held a narrow ring of color around each pupil. Worse, Virgil’s changeling eyes were heterochromatic, setting him apart even from his own kind. Besides his natural dark brown, he bore a dark green ring around his left pupil, and a striking purple one around his right. 

Wearing his hair long in the front helped, but they still drew attention.

He hated attention. 

If there was one thing Fae were good at, it was needling at your insecurities. Brownies and hobgoblins and other solitaries, like all faeries, enjoyed their little games. 

“Technically changelings _are_ human,” Virgil grumbled. “We’re just kept in Arcadia for so long that the magic just kind of—”

“Bleeds into ye?” The brownie swung their legs, making their mop of hair sway. “Soaks into your teeth and sinew until ye can alter the Contracts same as they can?” 

Virgil frowned. “If that means ‘do magic’, then yeah.”

“I live with a half-blood, lad,” the brownie pointed out, still in that sassy tone, licking their knobby teeth. “I know of your Grimms. I know you’re here for the Bear to keep safe, because your master tried to snatch ye back up. What’re you called, then, eh?”

“Um,” Virgil stalled, swallowing. 

It was never a good idea to give a Fae one’s real name, but if Logan and the little Fae had a close relationship, Virgil didn’t dare insult the brownie by lying to them. He suspected if this one knew why he was here, they knew his name already. 

“Virgil,” he admitted softly.

The brownie smiled, removing their sunglasses to bare their face properly.

“Mmm. Then you may call me Remy,” they said with a small nod, flourishing the glasses and parking them back on their nose. “He/him pronouns.”

Virgil nodded, guessing he’d passed some test.

Remy folded his arms again. 

Neither spoke for a long, uncomfortable minute…long enough for Virgil’s skin to crawl. Logan’s brownie seemed friendly enough, but Virgil wasn’t too keen to start befriending every faery he happened across. He also despised awkward silences, and small talk, and making nice with a stranger when he was worn down and grimy from travel and ready to curl up somewhere and just _sleep_. 

“Look, uh, Remy,” Virgil said at last, picking at his sleeves. “Did Logan know I was coming tonight?”

“You want to know why he’s not here to meet ye?” Remy shrugged. “I could explain, or,” and he gestured to a neatly folded sheet of paper on the coffee table, “you could hear it from the Bear himself.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and snatched up the note. 

_He could’ve have led with that, the little bastard._ He ignored Remy’s knowing chuckle and unfolded the note with a little more force than necessary. Delicate, slanted script covered the paper, the lines so straight they looked like they’d been made with a ruler.

_‘Salutations,’_

Virgil raised an eyebrow. _Really? We’re leading with that?_

_‘If you are reading this, Virgil, then I extend my sincerest apologies for my absence upon your arrival. An emergency has called me away. Though I advised your Grimm sponsors of this as soon as I could, you had already begun your journey, and, as you have no phone, there was no way to inform you._

Remy was right about this note being enlightening. Virgil hoped the guy didn’t actually talk like this.

_'(We must remedy this issue upon my return; due to the circumstances of your relocation, I insist upon having a reliable means to contact you.)’_

Patronizing, too. Great. 

_‘The room on the left is yours. There are clean sheets on the bed and towels in the bathroom. I trust you have brought your own toiletries.’_

Virgil frowned. Either Logan was one of those people who believed not brushing one’s teeth after every meal was barbaric, or he was afraid Virgil would steal his shampoo or something.

Whatever.

_‘Also, please do not move the bowl on the counter, and if you find it empty, if you could fill it with the cream you’ll find in the fridge, I would much appreciate it. The house brownie may or may not choose to introduce himself to you; he tends to spend most of his time sleeping. If he does come out, please be polite.’_

Virgil glanced up and was unsurprised to see that Remy had vanished. Brownies generally came and went as they pleased and stayed out of sight; he already knew he was fortunate Remy had shown himself at all. 

_‘I advise you to stay inside the apartment until my return. You will find both the fridge and the pantry stocked; please make yourself at home. I expect to return sometime the night of the 12th, and look forward to meeting you then._

_Logan’_

_'P.S. Do not touch the Crofters.'_

Well, August 12th would be over in about an hour, so it didn’t look like he’d be meeting Logan that night. Virgil refolded and pocketed the note, sighing again. He found Remy’s bowl and refilled it as instructed, but figured he probably wouldn’t see the little brownie again until Logan returned…if then. 

Meanwhile, he might as well get settled.

The room mentioned in the note held a twin bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a small deck with a chair. Not much, but the bedspread looked new and he had his own closet. Virgil, having lived in a tent before this, was very much not complaining. 

After unpacking his clothes (black, very dark gray, more black, a little purple…what, so he had a certain aesthetic), he carefully unearthed his two most valued possessions: a beat-up tackle box full of smushed, well-used acrylic paints, and a roll of brushes and palette knives. In his escape, he’d had to leave his all sketchbooks and paintings behind…but he knew he was lucky to have saved any of his art supplies at all. 

Virgil sat heavily on his bed, the last seventy-two hours finally starting to catch up.

The sheer terror of seeing his former faery master strolling through that Renaissance Faire like he owned the place.

Him bolting to his tent and throwing everything he could into his duffle. 

Running, with no real plan, nowhere in particular to go, just _away._

He was lucky that a Grimm had stumbled upon him at that farmer’s market and taken him to a safe house, one of many, set up all over the country. He was lucky those Grimms were in contact with the Founders…the original Grimm team…and through them, Logan.

He was lucky.

He’d already escaped hell once. He wasn’t sure he’d survive under Deceit’s thumb again. Working until his fingers bled and his eyes burned with exhaustion, second guessing every word, every gesture, every silence, never knowing day to day if he’d be slapped or fed, coddled or tortured…

Virgil shuddered, wrapping arms around himself and exhaling carefully. He’d endured over twenty hours of traveling without having a panic attack. It would suck to fall into one now that he was, for the moment, safe. 

At least, he hoped so.

For lack of anything else to do, Virgil showered in the guest bathroom (with his _own_ shampoo, thank you very much, Mr. _Bring-Your-Own-Toiletries_ ), and dressed for bed. It was barely midnight and his eyelids already felt heavy, and normally he considered 2am “early”. He read through Logan’s stilted, precise note again, frowning the odd post script before setting it on the nightstand and switching off the lamp.

_What in the Arcadian hell is a ‘Crofters’?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clematis:  
>  _rest, safety_


	2. Gloxinia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil meets Logan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Sweet Surrender" by Sarah McLachlan

_it doesn’t mean much_  
_it doesn’t mean anything at all_  
_the life i’ve left behind me is a cold room_

Virgil stirred to wide-eyed awareness twice in the night, both times because he thought he heard doors opening. But he was too exhausted to get up and check, and reluctantly settled down after the adrenaline wore off.

The third time he opened his eyes, the sky outside his bedroom window glowed an early morning blue and he desperately needed the restroom. 

Groaning, he grabbed his hoodie from where he’d slung it over the headboard the night before, pulled it securely around him, and padded across the hallway. Once finished, he tiptoed cautiously into the main room, finding it exactly as he had left it the night before. 

Was he still alone? If the sounds he’d heard _were_ Logan coming in super late, at best the dude was probably still asleep. 

_Hell,_ I _should still be asleep_ , Virgil thought, wandering blearily into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, more out of curiosity than actual hunger, and let out a surprised laugh.

“Holy troll shit, that is a lot of jelly,” he murmured, pulling out a jar to read the label. Crofters Organic. 

_Oh._

That explained the postscript. 

The sound of front door opening and closing startled him to his feet. Virgil hastily replaced the jar, lining it back up next to its dozen or so neighbors. 

Closing the fridge door, he looked over the counter and found himself face to face with the most gorgeous person he’d ever laid eyes on. His heart stuttered. The newcomer dumped a keyring on the counter…shit, this was _Logan_?…and adjusted a pair of half-moon glasses. 

“You must be Virgil,” he said in a deep, tranquil voice, stepping out of a pair of worn athletic shoes.

Virgil made a croaking noise that tried to become a greeting before getting stuck halfway down his throat. 

Logan swept through the apartment, disappearing into the furthest room and reemerging with a towel. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, bark dark and beech smooth, and sparkled in black hair braided into a dozen wavy rows against his scalp. The guy had one of those sculpted, solid builds, all broad, lean planes and bold, sensual lines. An artist’s dream to shade; a little awkward to hug. 

Virgil swallowed hard, forcing his poor gay eyes away. 

Somehow between the normalcy of the apartment and the weirdly formal note, he had forgotten that Logan was half _faery_ ; half Court Fae, in fact, if his looks were any clue. Such faeries were, as a rule, heartbreakingly beautiful. 

Upon closer examination, his non-human heritage was obvious. Ears that swept up and back to points on either side of his head, clearly visible to Virgil’s changeling gaze. Frost white streaks that twined through his braids. And those fae, prismatic eyes: the irises an explosion of frost and indigo and smoke that coalesced into a deep slate gray. 

Eyes that gazed a little too deep, burned a little too wild behind his glasses.

Virgil knew he ought to say something, but his addled brain had forgotten how to operate his mouth. 

“Apologies for my unkempt state,” Logan said as he patted himself down. “I always do my running in the morning before it gets too hot.”

“Uh…yeah,” Virgil muttered, wrenching his gaze from smooth muscles and a graceful sweeping collarbone to Logan’s stormy eyes, so striking in that dark face. “No, I mean…that’s cool.”

_Eloquent, Virgil._

Logan eyed him impassively. 

Virgil became abruptly and painfully ashamed to be dressed in nothing but ratty boxers and a faded hoodie. Maybe he could _just escape into my room and put pants on or would Logan hate me for being rude but maybe he already hates me for being half naked in the living room what the hell is wrong with me…_

“Do you drink coffee?” 

Logan hung the towel over one of the dining room chairs and swept past Virgil into the kitchen. A trace of that elusive teal scent from the night before followed in his wake, nearly making Virgil swoon. Even his _voice_ was sexy: dark and ocean blue, pleasantly filling the room without being loud. 

_Kelpie’s mane, Virgil, get your shit together. It’s not like you’ve never seen a hot black dude before._

He pulled his hoodie more tightly around himself.

“Uh, yeah,” he belatedly answered Logan’s question. “Coffee’s great.”

“Personally I like tea.” 

_Oh._ Well, Virgil did usually manage to say the wrong thing.

Logan pulled a Keurig machine from a bottom cabinet and set it up on the counter. 

“Herbal, preferably,” he added, “though I have been known to enjoy a good Earl Gray from time to time.”

“Earl Gray.” Virgil forced a chuckle. “You Captain Picard or something?”

His Rennie family had all been very fond of Star Trek, which was the only reason Virgil knew anything about it.

Logan, however, frowned.

“I am Logan Ursae.” He adjusted his glasses. “I assumed the Youngstown Grimms would have at least informed you of my name before sending you here?”

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or if the guy was just _that_ literal. 

“I meant, like, the Star Trek character, dude. Obviously I know who you are.”

Logan’s mouth twisted and he turned back to the Keurig. 

“I’m afraid I am not at all knowledgable about popular human entertainment. I find most of it trite and shallow.”

Virgil scuffed his bare foot uneasily over the carpet. Usually he preferred people to speak their minds instead of fucking around…but this guy took that philosophy a bit far. 

_He_ did _write that stick-up-the-ass note._

“Do you know that proper peppermint can be frustratingly difficult to procure unless one grows it themselves?” Logan said, once again ignoring the awkward silence that had fallen. 

Or maybe Virgil was the only awkward one, as usual. 

“And it cannot be grown from seed, only cuttings.” 

Virgil made a noncommittal noise, unsure if Logan was even expecting a response at this point. 

Logan held out a box of flavored coffees, packed side by side and seemingly organized by color.

“Um…hazelnut if you’ve got it,” Virgil muttered. “Should I, like, help or whatever?”

“Nonsense, you are my guest. Plus my kitchen is not large enough to accommodate two people comfortably.” Logan waved a graceful hand as he filled a copper kettle. “I will start our drinks, and then perhaps we should both get dressed for the day.”

Virgil flushed and pulled his hoodie closer, aware _once again_ that he’d galavanted out here in his underwear and worse, _Logan had noticed_. Had he seen Virgil ogling his bare chest? 

Was that why he kept prattling on about tea?

_He’s probably already decided I’m weird and creepy, he’s just waiting for the right moment to call me out…_

“Why even have a coffee maker if you don’t drink coffee?” Virgil asked, and then flinched. He had a bad habit of masking his anxiety with belligerence. 

It was why people tended not to like him.

Logan’s mouth quirked as he centered a mug under the Keurig. “You are not the first changeling I’ve taken in.”

He brushed past Virgil again (that _scent, gods_ , Virgil’s brain swooned again), heading towards the back bedroom. 

“Go and change while I shower,” he threw over his shoulder. “Then we can properly acquaint ourselves with one another.”

With that, the door clicked shut, leaving Virgil alone with a gaping mouth. 

“Bloody redcaps,” he muttered, yanking a handful of his faded purple hair. _‘Acquaint ourselves’, my gay ass. Said with a straight face. How the fuck is anyone that oblivious?_

“Naughty, naughty thoughts, changeling.” Remy’s amused smirk and sunglasses were just visible from his cabinet’s half-open door. “You’re lucky the Bear’s not a telepath.”

Virgil, flushing, made a rude gesture in the brownie’s direction and stalked to his own room, slamming the door. He then leaned against it and exhaled, his heart still throbbing unsteadily in his chest. 

Logan was…not what he had expected. 

Virgil wasn’t sure what he _had_ expected, after reading that note from last night. Certainly not some hot nerd with a gorgeous runner’s body and a quiet, self-assured aura, plus a bit bossy, and _damn, why do I find that kinda hot?_

Remy’s taunt came back to him and he groaned, covering his face. They _were_ naughty thoughts; thoughts a changeling like himself had no business entertaining. A beautiful half-faery deserved far better than a former thrall who’d done the sorts of things Virgil had done…

_Plus you haven’t made the best first impression, have you?_

Virgil thunked his head against the door, realized he’d been wool-gathering like a moron for several minutes, and went to change clothes. He took a little time to comb his hair and rub a little patchouli oil behind his ears. He wished he owned something nicer than ripped black jeans, faded band t-shirts (mostly metal), and one bulky, black plaid hoodie. 

He hated that it suddenly _mattered._

When Virgil emerged, Logan had already returned to the kitchen, dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a plain black polo that clung rather unfairly to his arms and torso, and…Virgil almost chuckled at the sight…a sky blue necktie.

Somehow, he made it work.

“Sit where you’d like.” Logan poured hot water into a galaxy mug without turning around. The Keurig spat the last of its sweet smelling contents into a second mug, and Logan carried both to the table. 

Virgil sat, feeling self-conscious as Logan passed him his coffee. 

Because now the half-faery clearly expected them to _talk about things._

Virgil hated talking about things. 

“I imagine you have questions,” Logan stated without preamble. 

“I…guess?” Virgil took a shy sip and winced as it burned his tongue.. “I mean…they didn’t tell me much about you back in Ohio,” he admitted. “Only that you have some ability to hide changelings from other Fae, and that’s why I’d be safe here.”

Logan stirred a generous dollop of honey into his tea, tasted it, grimaced, and added another spoonful. Virgil stared, morbidly fascinated that anyone so doggedly serious would want their drink that sweet.

“My ability to hide you is actually a byproduct of what I am, rather than anything I do.” Logan explained. “Simply put, even as a half-blood, my Court magic burns strong enough to mask yours. A proper Court faery could hide you far better, but finding one who wouldn’t immediately turn you back over to your master would be…”

“Impossible?” Virgil shivered. 

“Improbable.”

There were a million questions Virgil probably needed to ask, since he was stuck here. But as usual, his mouth refused to cooperate.

Logan eventually got up to fry a couple eggs and fix some toast, prompting Virgil to ask about the fridge full of jam, which sparked a passionate one-sided rant about fruit spreads, organics, ethics, and the superiority of Crofters that spared Virgil the need to do anything except nod with wide eyes until breakfast was over. 

(He was permitted to taste the sacred jam, and had to admit that it _was_ pretty good). 

“We will need to pick up Nicodemus this morning,” Logan stated once they’d finished eating and carried their plates to the sink. 

“We?” Virgil echoed, choosing to focus on that rather than on who or what a ‘Nicodemus’ might be. He slid his plate into the soapy water as Logan washed, almost dropping it when he accidentally brushed Logan’s forearm. The half-faery’s skin was smooth and pleasantly cool.

“I do not think it safe for you to be left here alone for long periods of time, at least not at first. Therefore you will need to accompany me on errands. I suggest we take thirty minutes to digest and then be on our way.” Logan paused, and turned to properly face Virgil. “If…that is agreeable to you?”

Virgil’s dislike of being ordered around must have been visible on his face. He schooled it to neutrality and cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

_Good impression, Virgil, come on._

“I mean, I don’t have anything going on until classes start in two weeks, so…you know, whatever you need to do is cool with me.” 

_Great. Now stop rambling, idiot._

Logan nodded and swept past again, down the hall, and then his bedroom door was closing firmly behind him again. Virgil huffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

Definitely not a man of excess words. 

_Or, and I’m just spitballing here_ , he thought wryly as he meandered back to his own room. _Maybe he hates you already._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gloxinia:  
>  _love at first sight_


	3. Lilac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan has a dog. Virgil knows how to sew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Out of the Woods" by Nickel Creek

_i wish you out of the woods_  
_and into a picture with me_

The Youngstown Grimms had made it sound like Logan possessed arcane knowledge, and would cast some sort of protective spell over Virgil. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this whole protection business being based on proximity. 

Had those Grimms warned Logan that they’d signed Virgil up for college classes? Did _they_ even know how Logan’s “protection” worked? It took Virgil nearly the entire allotted thirty "digestion" minutes to muster the courage to bring it up again. 

Honestly, with his track record, that wasn’t so bad.

“So…” he drawled, as the two were slipping on their shoes to leave. “How is this gonna work, anyway?”

“This?” Logan pocketed his phone.

“Me, staying here, with you.” Virgil gestured between them. “Like, do I have to stay within a certain distance for your protection mojo to work?”

“For the time being, yes,” Logan explained as they exited the apartment and started down the stairs. “My long term plan, however, is to make a charm that will shield you in my stead.”

That didn’t sound so bad.

“But I _will_ be able to leave?” Virgil clarified. “Like, during the day or whatever?”

As much as he didn’t mind sharing space with an absurdly gorgeous…if a bit standoffish…guy, being trapped inside day after day would drive him up the wall.

Logan made a noise of assent. 

“The charm I intend to make will ensure that our arrangement does not overly restrict your freedom. Shelley has informed me of your intention to attend fall classes at Stetson University.”

_‘My’ intention, sure._

Truthfully, art school had simply been the cover story to explain why Virgil would suddenly abandon Ohio and his Faire family. The Youngstown Grimms warned him that the whole Ren Faire circuit wasn’t safe for him anymore, not even as far away as Florida, not when his master had already tracked him down once. He still couldn’t imagine what strings the Grimms had had to pull to get him into a fancy, expensive-as-fuck university on such short notice, with only a GED to his name and no other transcripts…but they _had_ , and they’d told him all his expenses would be covered besides. 

Virgil was smart enough to recognize an opportunity when he saw it…and too selfish to turn it down.

“Oh, I suppose I should ask.” Logan paused before they left the stairwell. “How sensitive are you to iron?”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Cars don’t bother me, if that’s what you’re implying. Most metal doesn’t if it’s refined enough.”

“You are fortunate.” Logan absently thumbed one of his pointed ear tips. “I hypothesize that my sensitivity lies somewhere between that of a true faery and an older changeling. My disguise glamour protects me somewhat, so driving around town is not a problem, but a cross country trip would be…taxing.”

Virgil winced. “That still sucks.”

Logan hummed, adjusted his glasses, and they left the stairwell for the overly bright, bleached parking lot.

_Florida, ugh._ Virgil squinted in the unrelenting sunlight. _No wonder Logan’s house brownie wears sunglasses._ He would need to buy a pair of his own, and soon. 

Logan unlocked a nearby blue Honda Fit and they climbed in. Virgil observed how Logan’s dark, graceful hands did not linger on either the door handle or the metal seatbelt buckle. 

“I can eat stuff cooked in ordinary pots,“ Virgil added as they pulled out of the parking lot. “But cast iron skillets, man…” He shuddered.

“An iron skillet would outright poison me.” Logan grimaced. “Even heavily refined steel is distasteful to cook in.”

_That’s why he owns a copper kettle_ , Virgil realized. _Probably all his cooking utensils are copper or aluminum._

“I was shoved into a wrought iron gate once at a Faire,” Virgil went on. “Burned like a bitch, and I only touched it for a few seconds. I haven’t really tested my sensitivities beyond that.”

“I recommend against it.” Logan answered Virgil’s raised eyebrow with a sharp look. “The enmity between iron and Fae is an ancient one. You won’t develop a tolerance.”

Something in the tone spoke of past experience to Virgil. Another little interesting tidbit about the man he’d moved in with.

His charged iPod and headphones lay nestled in his hoodie pocket, but for once, Virgil chose not to tune out the world. Instead he observed Logan’s long fingers on the faux-leather steering wheel, the flex of muscle in his forearms, the crease between his eyebrows as he navigated downtown DeLand’s narrow Main Street. 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Logan said after a long silence, as though weighing the words. Which of course made Virgil’s anxiety skyrocket. 

“What fae abilities do you possess?”

Virgil’s mouth twisted; he’d been dreading that question. 

_His own hands, caressing bits of straw, color and softness bursting from the hollow shafts. Sewing needles and the dark, metallic scent of blood. Mocking words and cruel fae lips and under it all his power, flowing from his chest into waiting bodies…_

Dolls. Abominations.

“I make flowers,” he answered at last. 

Logan glanced at him and arched an eyebrow. 

Virgil sighed and patted his pockets, finally plucking a loose thread from his hoodie sleeve when nothing else turned up. He laid the tiny string across his palm, and mentally _pulled_. Warmth blossomed in his chest, like unfolding flower petals, racing down his arm, rippling under his skin, seeping into the thread he held. 

It quivered, and expanded, buds bubbling along its length before silently exploding into leaves, the end growing bulbous and green and peeling into delicate violet petals and a yellow center. 

He stuck the newly created forget-me-not, stem barely as long as his pinky finger, behind his ear.

“Go on, you can say it,” he challenged, chancing a look at Logan, whose expression hadn’t changed. “Sixteen fucking years in Arcadia, and I end up with the most useless changeling power in existence.”

It was safer, disparaging his magic like it really was nothing but flower-making. _Those Grimms in Ohio would never have helped me if they knew what I was, and why my master wanted me back._

The half-faery’s eyes were a mystery behind his glasses. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” 

But then they were pulling up to an ordinary suburban house and Logan was parking the car, and Virgil had a whole different, slightly more ordinary situation to fret over. 

Interacting with people.

“Come,” Logan said, getting out. “Time to meet Nicodemus.”

Virgil dearly hoped ’Nicodemus’ wasn’t another brownie, or a pixie or a hobgoblin, or… 

To Virgil’s vast relief, Nicodemus turned out to be a brown Labrador that barked joyously at Logan’s arrival and spent the next five minutes on its hind legs, eagerly licking the half-faery’s face. 

Logan rubbed the dog’s head, heedless of the spit bath, and exchanged words and money with the gray-haired woman of the house. Virgil gathered that she often watched Logan’s dog when he was away. The two of them, dog bouncing between, carried a crate full of hairy blankets, some dishes, and several toys out to Logan’s car.

Virgil hung back in the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets, hoping he wouldn’t be called over to socialize. He stiffened when woman gestured towards him, and Logan said something at length. Virgil shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, wondering what excuses Logan gave to people for his changeling houseguests over the years. 

Nicodemus trotted over, eyeing Virgil with curious black eyes.

“Hey…boy.” Virgil gingerly held out a hand. The dog sniffed it, sneezed, and gave his fingers a few licks. (Virgil grimaced and wiped them on his hoodie).

“I was hoping he would like you.”

Virgil startled, having not heard Logan approach. “Is that…what the licking means?”

The half-faery’s mouth twitched in a tiny smile.

“Thank you again, Stephanie!” he called, waving as the woman went inside. “Nic, come!”

Nic leaped obediently into the car’s back seat and settled with his snout just above Virgil’s shoulder. 

“I suppose it is a bit late to inquire whether you are amenable to sharing a living space with an animal,” Logan commented in an uncharacteristically wry voice.

Virgil shrugged, reaching back to pet Nic’s neck. 

“Dogs are okay, I guess. I’ve never had a pet, so…I don’t know much about taking care of them or whatever.”

Logan waved a hand. “I would expect no such thing. Nic is my responsibility.”

“Um, speaking of responsibility.” Virgil rubbed at the back of his neck. “I was thinking I should probably start looking for a job? So I can, you know, help out with rent and stuff?”

“Why?”

There was no judgement in Logan’s tone; only curiosity.

“I dunno, I just don’t want to be a freeloader.” Virgil shrugged, his shoulders hunched. “The Youngstown Grimms are already paying for all my school stuff and honestly I feel kinda bad about that.”

“I wouldn’t.” Logan raised an eyebrow at Virgil shocked face. “Do you truly think that an organization run by changelings, some of whom can literally transform physical objects into other objects, would have issues obtaining something as mundane as money?”

Virgil’s mouth twisted and he touched the flower still stuck in his ear…the forget-me-not he’d grown from magic and a bit of loose thread. Maybe making random objects bloom wasn’t terribly _useful_ …but sometimes he forgot that such power was still extraordinary from a normal perspective.

Knowing that didn’t make his insecurities go away.

“Look, I dunno what they told you about me, but I was on the road with a Renaissance Faire for nearly two years before De…” Virgil swallowed, unwilling to say even the made-up name aloud. “Before my faery master found me. We didn’t have a lot and we never stayed in one place for long, but it was a good life, you know? They were the closest people I’d had to a family on the outside. And we all worked hard; you had to, to keep the Faire running. Everyone earned their keep.”

Logan hummed, rubbing a finger absently on the steering wheel. “Do you fear letting others pay your way will give them too much control over your life?”

Virgil picked at a rip in his skinny jeans. Logan was not as oblivious as his stilted language would suggest.

“I…yeah. I guess?” 

“I am financially solvent enough to support myself and anyone the Grimms send to me, for however long that individual needs to stay.” Logan shot Virgil a look, his stormy eyes softening slightly. “However, I will not be offended if you wish to obtain employment and ‘earn your keep’, as you put it.”

Virgil leaned his head against the window glass, his lungs tight with memories, with fears, with feeling like any joy he scratched out of the barren soil of this existence would always be one faery whim away from being crushed.

Again.

“It’s just, last week I had a life,” he admitted softly. “Now suddenly it’s gone, and I feel a little…lost, I guess.”

Logan drummed thoughtful fingers on the steering wheel.

“Where were you initially rescued?” he asked. “Not four days ago, but when you first left Arcadia?”

Virgil didn’t quite suppress a shudder at the word _Arcadia_.

“Somewhere in Pennsylvania, I think,” he answered lowly. “Some Grimms…not Youngstown; a different chapter…shut down an illegal trade between two minor Courts. My master was…” 

He swallowed, unwilling to admit his faery master had been a fetch-dealer, that the operation those Grimms shut down that day had been a fetch trade. Trafficking in human dolls was the only Unseelie vice specifically forbidden by the Accords themselves. Faeries caught using them in their kidnappings earned an immediate price on their heads. And human thralls forced by said faeries to make those dolls…well. 

The usually went mad.

The whole mess carried a well-deserved stigma.

“Let’s just say he was involved in a lot of shady Unseelie shit,” Virgil muttered, looking out the window again.

Logan’s fingers traced the wheel again, his gaze on the road but somehow also miles away. 

“You escaped in the confusion?” he prompted.

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah. I hitchhiked to upstate New York and met old Betsy in a bar.” He smiled at the memory. “She introduced me to her Faire buddies and the rest was history.” 

“And you were with them for two years?”

Virgil frowned. 

“Yeah. What’s with the twenty questions?”

They’d reached the apartment lot; Logan turned off the car.

“Shelley and the Youngstown Grimms were wise to send you to me,” he said cryptically as they got out and opened the back hatch. It felt like the half-faery was changing the subject, though Virgil couldn’t say why.

“You know, before I left, Shelley told me that you _asked_ for me.” Virgil narrowed his eyes. “When they told you my situation, they said you wanted me to come.”

Logan wore an unidentifiable expression as he hefted Nic’s crate from the back. Virgil moved to help. The shared burden made it easy for the half-faery to not meet Virgil’s gaze as they moved upstairs, Nic following placidly at their heels.

“I wanted you to come because I am in a unique position to keep you safe,” Logan allowed at last, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “Both because of my heritage, and because Florida is such a long distance from your previous life.”

Virgil liked to think he had an excellent trollshit detector, mostly because his Fae master had been, among other things, a master liar. Body language, tics, tone of voice. Everyone had tells, even stoic half-faeries with extraordinary control over their facial expressions. 

Logan was not lying…but he was definitely fae-dancing around something. 

“If we are able to keep you out of sight long enough,” Logan went on, “it is possible that he will give up looking. As much as faeries love the chase, a single human thrall is, for better or for worse, simply not worth their time in the end.”

_Unless that thrall was a fetch-maker._

Virgil swallowed hard. Well, if Logan wasn’t going to share his secret, Virgil sure as hell wasn’t revealing his own. 

“So you’re saying I’m not worth their time?” he quipped instead, attempting to lighten the mood as they reached the top of the stairs. “Now I’m not sure whether to be relieved or insulted.”

Logan cocked his head. “I…had meant the words to be comforting. Did they not come across as such?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. 

“How are you _that_ literal? I was kidding.”

“Oh.” Logan frowned, shifting the crate to adjust his glasses again. “My colleagues tell me I am, in their words, ‘spectacularly’ inept at detecting sarcasm.”

Virgil swallowed a smirk. _No shit, Sherlock._

“You’re gonna have a hard time with me, then.” 

“Well, surely with sufficient communication we will…” Logan trailed off, and narrowed his eyes. “Ah. That was another joke.”

“You’re learning.” Virgil made a finger gun with one hand, prompting an answering eye roll. 

Logan fished out his keys and the two guided the crate into the apartment. Nic bounded down the hallway and into Logan’s room; a smiling, irate Logan on his heels, grumbling that he’d better stay off the bed.

For a moment, Virgil breathed in the pleasant scent of the apartment, and listened to the soft sounds of Remy snoring in his cabinet, and allowed something like hope to lighten his heart.

He missed Ohio, but…this really wasn’t so bad.

“Oh for goodness sakes, really Nic?” Logan’s irritated voice drifted into the living room, followed by the man himself, holding a mangled stuffed animal. “That dog, I swear. Every time I have to leave him in another’s care, he destroys at least one of his toys.”

He made to toss the toy in the garbage, but Virgil scurried forward to stop him.

“Hang on, let me see,” he murmured, taking the toy and turning it over in his hands. It was a stuffed lion, chubby and smiling, with a squeaker in its belly. Stuffing was poking out of several messy rips, and the head was dangling by a mere thread. 

“Yeah, I can definitely fix this. Do you have needle and thread?”

Logan nodded and went back into his bedroom, which Virgil barely noticed as he pressed fluff back inside and located all the busted stitches with practiced fingers. Logan reappeared with a spool of thread and a long, white needle Virgil instinctively knew was made of ivory or some other kind of bone. Faeries tended to favor bone needles in Arcadia, and Logan had already mentioned being sensitive to steel.

Virgil settled on the couch with the toy.

For a time the world faded; there was only cotton, yielding under his fingers; ragged edges folded and hidden; slick ivory needle parting cloth and perfect stitches pulled tight. The satisfaction of tying the last knot and _examining the body, ready to breathe life into its flowery heart and flaccid limbs, hear its first cries…_

Virgil pulled out of the memory with a gasp, hand closing reflexively around the repaired lion, making it squeak. Slowly his surroundings filtered back in, easing the panicky tightness in his chest: couch, counter, front door, Remy’s cabinet. He was safe and out of Arcadia, _out of Arcadia, and Deceit does not know where I am._

Logan sat in the chair opposite the couch, eating a sandwich and watching Virgil. A plate piled with more sandwiches sat on the coffee table between them. 

_How did he have time to make all those? How…how long has he been watching me?_

Virgil flexed his sore right hand, trying to look casual but borderline freaking out on the inside.

_He could have seen everything, I was seconds away from bringing that stuffed animal to life because it’s been so long and I got caught up, he’s gonna know what my power really is…_

“Um, I think I’m done,” he muttered, gripping the lion and making it squeak again. An answering bark from the back bedroom made Virgil startle.

“May I?” Logan asked, holding his hand out for the toy.

Virgil held his breath as Logan pulled at the stitching, tugged at the head, waiting for the half-faery to call out how weird he’d just acted. But Logan only nodded.

“Excellent. This is one of Nic’s favorites; I know he will appreciate having it back in one piece.” 

He stood and flashed Virgil a half smile, one that made his pulse race.

“Eat, I made plenty,” Logan added, gesturing at the plate and then disappearing into his bedroom.

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and ran shaking hands through his hair. The fading tightness in his lungs shifted into dull, stabbing pinpricks, making him hiss softly. It felt like thorns, choking his heart, brushing his ribcage with every movement. 

The needle he still held in his fingers swelled and burst into flower: a single bunch of tiny purple blossoms framed by soft emerald leaves. Virgil bit his lip hard, tasting blood. 

Lilac.

_No, no, no, I had my power under control, I swore never again…_ he clenched his fists hard, crushing the delicate flower stalk, nails imprinting on his palms. Virgil focused on that pain, determined to push the dangerous feelings down, focused on his breathing, _in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, come on, Virgil…_

The stabbing ebbed and he drew a deep, unsteady breath. 

_I’m safe here._

_I’m safe._

_And I can’t ever tell Logan what I was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purple lilac:  
>  _first emotions of love_


	4. Rosemary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Logan take a walk. It doesn't go quite as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Desert Flower" by Auri

_all i wanted was_  
_to see your smile break out_

The song was called “Unbreakable”.

For as long as Virgil could remember, he’d experienced music as color: streaks and blobs and ripples of it. As a child in Arcadia, faery pipes and violins had fascinated him with their shimmering golds and sweet, sharp greens and languid, heady burgundies. 

As he grew older, Virgil learned that his experience was not universal; not amongst ordinary humans, nor changelings, nor even faeries. Even before he’d left Arcadia, he’d half-convinced himself that his “color hearing” was the product of too much exposure to magic and an over-active imagination. 

Only his best friend Patton, a fellow thrall who’d disappeared into the Hedge a full three years before Virgil escaped, had ever really believed in his color hearing. But then an old Rennie named Betsy had taken him under her wing, and taught him to paint.

The month was November, and Virgil was slowly settling into his mundane new life.

The night before Virgil’s first class at Stetson, Logan presented him with a necklace: a delicate twining chain, from which hung a bear-shaped moonstone. It rested against Virgil’s chest; a cold, crystalline knot of magic that screamed “stay away!”. Logan advised him to keep it against his skin at all times when not in the half-faery’s immediate presence, so he got in the habit of putting it on every morning when he did his eyeshadow, and laying it on his nightstand at night. 

As “Unbreakable” blasted in Virgil’s ears and he worked a palette knife across a color-smeared canvas, he caressed the pendant with his other hand. He found that the cool tingly magic helped him concentrate.

Virgil’s desk was littered with acrylic tubes and paint-dotted paper towels, used to wipe his palette knife every few strokes. Although the paints were his, the desktop easel he used had been a gift from Logan, as was the stack of blank canvases he’d found in his room after he told Logan he planned to major in art. 

Virgil had no idea how to react to someone buying him expensive gifts, so of course, he’d reacted badly. The random gifting had come to a head with the smartphone. He gritted his teeth at the memory.

He had insisted on using the last of his Faire earnings for a cheap phone, if Logan really thought he needed one. Logan insisted he needed something with modern features, like GPS. They had argued, fiercely, the skirmish ending with Virgil storming into his room and slamming the door.

That fight taught Virgil two things. 

One, despite Logan’s perpetually unruffled exterior, the half-faery possessed both a temper and an impressive shouting voice when provoked. 

Two, Logan was stubborn. Virgil had awoken the morning after the fight to find a smartphone on his nightstand. It was currently in Virgil’s pants pocket, being used as a music player. He told himself this was only because it held far more songs than his old iPod…not because Logan had won.

(Logan had won.)

Headphones in, eyes half lidded, tube of paint in hand, fingers smeared with color: this had become Virgil’s escape from the awkwardness that had sprung up since the Phone Fight. The canvas he worked was a riot of color and movement, golds and reds veined with dark green, swooping and swirling over the white expanse. Head nodding to the beat, Virgil added a few globs of gold and scraped the color down into a previous red swath with firm, careful strokes. 

“Unbreakable” ended.

He restarted the song, letting the opening notes wash over him again, and stepped back to critique his work. 

_Deep red, then a soft dark golden voice that flows like so, then all those light, airy beats of yellow strings, blue-green interlude, building into a wash of vermilion…_ he was so wrapped up in the experience that he didn’t hear the door to his room open. 

Thus the gentle tap on his shoulder made him leap out of his skin and curse fluently in Faery.

“Logan!” he gasped when his mind reverted to English, yanking out an earbud and waving his acrylic-stained palette knife for emphasis. “Skulking redcaps, warn a dude.” 

“Apologies, Virgil.” Logan looked utterly nonplussed at the threat. “I had no idea you spoke Faery so well.”

“It’s called swearing, trollface, and only when people freaking _sneak up on me_.” 

Most changelings developed a decent grasp of the faery language in Arcadia; it was useful for communicating with solitary Fae who’d had no exposure to humanity, or changelings taken from other countries.

(You never spoke it in front of a Court Fae, though, unless you wanted to lose your tongue.)

“I tried knocking but you must not have heard me,” Logan went on. “I wished to inform you that I am going out to walk Nicodemus. I should be gone no longer than half an hour, unless you would like to accompany us?”

Virgil smiled, a little bitterly, and gestured at the painting. 

“Nah, I want to finish this.”

Every night, Logan made this offer. 

Every night, Virgil refused. 

It wasn’t that Virgil didn’t want to spend time with Logan (and Nic, the sweet-faced dog was growing on him); he did. He really, _really_ did. He wanted it _too much_ , and that was exactly the problem. He already found Logan unbearably attractive; he didn’t dare let his clingy heart get more attached. 

Virgil knew himself. He was cynical, anti-social, prone to panic over stupid shit, and generally just a difficult person to be around. Oh, and he was also on the run from a powerful Unseelie Fae, one who’d already chased him to Ohio. Virgil had no illusions about this arrangement with Logan: he would stay until either Logan got tired of protecting his anxious ass, or until Deceit, by some miracle, managed to get himself killed. 

If Logan didn’t secretly despise him after the Phone Fight, he surely would once he got to know Virgil better. And he would _definitely_ hate Virgil if he ever found out why Deceit wanted him back so badly. So Virgil had kept to his room, blaming classes and homework, and rejected Logan’s attempts to socialize.

But tonight, to Virgil’s surprise, instead of leaving like he had every other time, Logan moved closer. The half-faery studied the colorful canvas with a scrutiny that made Virgil desperately want his hoodie, which he’d set aside earlier so it wouldn’t get paint on it. It was impossible to ignore just how _pretty_ Logan was up close, all angles and presence and piercing gray eyes. He’d carried that strange, intoxicating scent in with him, too, further scattering Virgil’s already scattered thoughts.

“Your blending and layering technique is quite complex. Do you have a theme in mind or is it abstract?” Logan murmured. 

As though he found Virgil’s work _that_ fascinating. 

_Faeries above_ , Virgil was going to die of embarrassment now. 

“It’s kinda both, I guess?” he muttered, picking at a dry bit of paint on his hand. 

“How do you choose your color scheme?”

Nobody had ever shown this much interest in his art before and Virgil was flattered, despite himself. He couldn’t help but tell the truth.

“Well…this is probably gonna sound stupid.” 

Virgil paused, but Logan merely nodded. 

“I, uh…I see them. The colors. In my mind…when I listen to music. So in a sense I just…paint what I see.”

Logan’s curious eyes lit with surprise, the expression so intense it made Virgil’s heart skip.

“Chomesthesia.”

“Chroma what now?” Virgil echoed.

“Sound-to-color synesthesia,” Logan clarified, straightening his glasses. “A type of synesthesia in which sounds automatically and involuntarily evoke an experience of color. It is estimated that synesthesia is found in around 4% of the overall population, and the type you have is the second most common.”

Virgil blinked, gaze flickering between the canvas and Logan. 

“Wait, so…there’s a word for it?” he demanded. “Like, it’s not just my imagination, or a changeling thing?”

“It is indeed a real phenomenon, and a perfectly normal…if rare…human experience.” Logan nodded. “It is possible that your time in Arcadia influenced its development, as scientists do not yet know what causes synesthesia to manifest, or how much one’s environment plays a role. But however you came by it, it would seem you have put it to good use.”

He gestured at the canvas.

Virgil looked away. 

_Chromesthesia_. The new word lay on his tongue like a benediction; proof that, in at least one area of his changeling mind, he wasn’t completely broken.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to it.” The half-faery straightened his glasses…he did that a lot…and started to go.

“Wait!”

It was out of Virgil’s mouth before he could stop himself. 

Logan paused, raising a sharp eyebrow. 

“I’ll come with you. And Nic. Tonight. If…I’m still invited?” Virgil added softly. 

An uncharacteristically soft smile broke out on Logan’s face before it was swallowed by impassivity. 

“Of course.”

#

Evening lay softly crimson and deep purple over DeLand, though the air was still hot and muggy. Virgil sighed, shrugging his hoodie away from his back in a vain attempt to circulate air. 

_Fucking November, and it’s still hot as salamander piss._

Logan chose to take them to Painter’s Pond, a small park only fifteen minutes walk from the apartment. Nicodemus kept bounding ahead, and then doubling back to insert his head under one of Virgil’s hands, or nudge him with his body, or yip softly in a slightly breathless way that seemed unique to the brown Labrador.

It was weirdly flattering, Virgil thought, how much Logan’s dog seemed to like him. 

It was quiet, but for Nic’s claws clicking on the pavement. 

One of Logan’s nicest traits, Virgil decided, was that the man didn’t feel the need to fill the void with awkward conversation. The half-faery strode along with his head tilted up, watching the stars come out. Virgil alternated between scuffing his heels on the sidewalk, watching Nic’s antics, and _not_ admiring Logan’s sharp profile in the fading light.

“Why do you wear that impractical garment?” Logan asked, eyeing him as he fanned his back for the millionth time. “It is entirely unsuited for this climate.”

Logan himself wore his usual dark wash jeans, paired today with a dark blue, NASA embroidered polo, sans tie for once.

“I dunno,” Virgil muttered, picking at a frayed sleeve. “Honestly I kinda feel undressed without it, even when it’s hot as…hot….stuff.” He was still wary about swearing around Logan, or voicing any of the weird and gross metaphors he’d picked up in Arcadia. “It just makes me feel safer.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully.

They entered the park. Logan let Nicodemus off his leash over Virgil’s objections, pointing out that Nic was a well behaved dog and that the pixies and gnomes wouldn’t care. 

“I was talking about _humans_ ,” Virgil muttered, scowling when Logan pointed out that there were none of those in the park at present, either. 

“I often bring my telescope here for stargazing, when the weather allows,” Logan said as they walked, peering up at the sky. “Perhaps next time we’ll bring it along.”

Like there would absolutely be a next time.

Virgil swallowed. 

_Don’t get attached._

“Yeah, sounds cool or whatever,” he mumbled.

_Coward._

A trio of chiming lights zipped out of the night toward them, making Virgil freeze. He cast a wild-eyed look at Logan, but the half-faery looked unperturbed. 

“Wren Rumplesprite, Wrassey Rumplesprite, Tourmaline Cloverleaf,” he greeted each of them, nodding and receiving a nod in turn from the finger-sized creatures. 

“ _Bear, you are rude_ ,” the one called Wrassey scolded in Faery, folding her minute arms. Like all pixies, she had delicate humanoid features and wings that chimed sweetly as she hovered. “ _Using our full names in front of a stranger?_ ”

“ _How shall we punish him, sister?_ ” Wren added.

“Falsehood,” Logan scolded. “I have only used the names you gave me to call you. Names that you yourselves claimed to have made up.”

“ _Made up becomes true on the making up._ ” Wren spun, using the point of Logan’s ear as a fulcrum. “ _Even you are fae enough to know that._ ”

“What I _know_ ,” Logan said, looking thoroughly put out, “is that you two enjoy poking fun at me.”

Virgil rubbed a hand over his mouth to keep from smiling; Logan’s faux annoyance with the little Fae was, well, kind of adorable. 

“ _I’m curious to know if this stranger is ever going to introduce himself_ ,” the third pixie chimed in, flitting over until her tiny face hovered less than a foot from Virgil’s nose. Her skin was soot black, a contrast to the sisters’ pale green; she was also shorter, rounder, and clearly older.

“Um…” Virgil shot a panicked look at Logan. Despite the friendly banter, these pixies didn’t appear to know _Logan’s_ actual name. On the other hand, Virgil didn’t want to be rude by refusing.

“I have known Wren and Wrassey for many years, Tourmaline for longer,” Logan explained gently. “They are trustworthy enough.” His lips twitched in a smirk. “For pixies.”

All three pixies cried out in mock outrage, flitting around Logan’s face and flicking his ears. He, in turn, gave them a few half-hearted swats. Virgil nervously cleared his throat.

“I’m Virgil,” he said with an awkward little wave.

“ _Viiiiiirgil_ ,” Wrassey trilled, clapping her hands. “ _Mmm, it tastes so much nicer than the Bear’s._ ”

“Falsehood. Names do not have a flavor; you don’t eat names,” Logan sputtered.

“ _Maybe you don’t._ ” Wren giggled.

“ _Oh don’t fret, Bear, you’re still our favorite,_ ” Wrassey added.

Both sisters flew over to plant identical tiny kisses on Logan’s cheeks. He recoiled, waving them off, and they fluttered away laughing. Tourmaline flew off after, yelling something in Faery.

“Don’t mind them,” Logan muttered, “they’re…” He waved a hand helplessly.

“Pixies?” Virgil finished. “Yeah, I’ve met a few.”

Both watched as the pixies chased Nic around the manicured grass, occasionally picking up tiny sticks to throw for him.

“Virgil, do you feel unsafe?” Logan asked in a low voice.

Virgil swallowed, daring to look the half-faery in the eye. Logan’s intense expression sharpened his fae features: the tips of his pointed ears poking through his hair, his hollow cheeks, the sinuous grace with which he moved. 

Virgil shivered despite the warm air. 

“You mean like, right now?” he asked. “Or just in general?”

“Either. Both.”

To be honest, Virgil didn’t like thinking about safety…mostly because that usually led to _worrying_ about it, to fearing that he was always being watched, to remembering his hellish days in Arcadia, to Deceit, _Deceit_ … 

Thinking about safety ended in panic attacks and nightmares. 

Virgil looked around the park, biting his lip. It wasn’t quite dark; the streetlights glowed a soft LED blue, and the sky glowed with the ever-present haze of human light pollution. Sharply ordinary. Far from any danger.

Then again, the Renaissance Faire back in Ohio had felt the same. And look what happened.

He shook his head and let his eyes rest on the stoic, unemotional half-faery the Grimms had trusted to hide him. 

“You know,” Virgil said, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “The fact that you feel the need to ask is not helping my natural anxiety.” 

Logan sighed, and nudged his glasses up on his nose. Virgil hid a shiver as that steely gaze met his. _Damn_ , those eyes were mesmerizing.

“I mentioned before that you are not the first changeling I have taken in,” Logan said. “But you should know that I do not do it often. The need is infrequent.” 

He paused, as though weighing his words. 

“There must be a reason why a powerful Unseelie Fae would seek you out two years after your escape, long after most Fae would give up…”

Virgil’s mind was assaulted by memories of a golden, slitted eye, flashing in the dimness. Logan's words flattened to muffled noise. _Laughter, dark and high-pitched; a slick, melodic voice. Whispers. Trees, branches like claws against a blood red sky. The slide of scaled flesh against his neck, a sinuous caress he flailed and failed to brush away._

_Drunken, aimless fog, watching his own fingers with a needle, passing sinew in and out, in and out, and fear; poignant, choking fear, that kind that steals your breath and locks your limbs, and lies, so many lies, so much deceit._

_Deceit…_

A cool pair of hands grasped his shoulders and he cried out, tried to fight but they were strong, so strong…but dark-skinned, and smooth, _no, that’s not right_ ….his chest heaved, his mind spun, his lungs were full of thorns and bramble, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_ …

“… _need to take deep breaths, Virgil._ ”

_Virgil. I am Virgil._

Logan’s voice sounded hollow and far away. Dimly he felt something warm press onto his legs, pressing him to the warm concrete beneath; had he fallen? 

Virgil’s right hand was set against a black-clad chest; his other splayed into a handful of bristly fur. His panicking mind latched onto the two contrasting sensations: cool, hard muscle under one burning palm; warm, soft fur under the other. 

“ _Bramble and briar, Bear, what did you do to him?_ ”

“Inhale for four seconds, that’s it…”

Virgil desperately sucked in a mouthful of oxygen.

“Hold for seven seconds.” 

He did. Sight, and other sensations returned. 

Logan knelt next to Virgil on the sidewalk, breathing with slow, exaggerated care, gripping Virgil’s shaking hand against his chest. 

“Exhale for eight,” Logan said. 

Virgil did.

The pixies perched on various parts of Logan’s head, confusion scrunching their tiny faces. Nic whined softly from his place on Virgil’s lap.

Virgil breathed and stroked the dog, the motion grounding. It took several agonizing minutes, but he finally took a whole breath without gasping, relaxed his clenched muscles. A thin sheen of sweat coated his body under his hoodie, much to his embarrassment. 

“Stop touching me!” he snapped, upending the dog and scattering the pixies with a flurry of chiming wings, snatching his hands away and huddling in his hoodie. He hadn’t wanted Logan to see him like this, _dammit_ , why couldn’t he just keep it together? 

“S…sorry. For freaking out,” Virgil mumbled, unable to meet Logan’s eyes. 

The half-faery took a breath, as if to say something, but instead let it out in a huff. He held out a hand to help Virgil up.

“I think, perhaps, it is time to head home,” Logan said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosemary:  
>  _remembrance, a clear mind_
> 
> Song(s) mentioned:  
> "Unbreakable" by Two Steps From Hell
> 
> Want to see what Virgil looks like? [Check out my Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/p/CC2Ikg-nksx/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)


	5. Fern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan talks about his lineage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Feels Like Tonight" by Daughtry

_you, you got me  
thinking it’ll be all right_

The walk back was quiet. 

Logan didn’t speak. Well, that wasn’t new, but gone was the relaxed contentment from earlier. This silence only amplified Virgil’s squirming thoughts. 

_Now you’ve done it. All Logan had to do was bring up De_ …Him. _Deceit. Faery balls, you can't even say the name in your own head…and it’s not even his real name. And then you had to go and have a freaking panic attack._

_If Logan didn’t already think you’re pathetic, he definitely does now._

His fists clenched inside his hoodie sleeves. 

_Now that he knows how prone you are to freaking out, maybe he’ll decide you’re too much to handle and kick you to the curb like you deserve!_

They reentered the apartment, Nic heading straight for his water bowl. 

Logan went to the gramophone on Remy’s cabinet, fingertips skimming the record shelf. He selected one and put it on the player; the sultry golden sound of old Fleetwood Mac filled the room. At Remy’s irritated grumble, the half-faery adjusted the volume to something just audible.

He turned to face Virgil. 

The changeling braced himself.

“I owe you an apology.” 

Virgil blinked in astonishment as _Logan_ broke their gaze, wearing a chagrined expression that did not quite fit on his stoic face.

“I should know better than to bring up a changeling’s past, so soon after…” he paused. “As much as it would help me, to know…” 

Logan sighed, and adjusted his glasses.

There is was again, hanging between them; whatever _thing_ he’d almost brought up the day they brought Nic home. Virgil held his breath, wondering if Logan was finally going to talk about it.

“I will not force you to speak of anything that causes you undue stress.” Logan’s mouth quirked in a small smile. “I do not wish for you to feel like a prisoner here, Virgil. This is not Arcadia.”

_Dark, alien skies through barred windows, the click of a key twisting in a lock, Deceit…stop!_

“I know _that_ ,” Virgil sputtered, reeling himself back to the present. “But in some ways…I still kind of am. A prisoner. When I think about that place, or… _him_.” 

He hated how small his voice sounded. 

Logan stepped closer and laid cool hands on Virgil’s shoulders. Long, faery-thin fingers, the skin so dark it almost blended into Virgil’s hoodie. 

“Then we will not speak of them.”

Virgil nodded, dropping his gaze. 

Logan went to the kitchen, and soon the sounds of a brewing Keurig and a whistling tea kettle filled the apartment. Virgil squeezed onto the couch, idly listening to the music, wanting desperately to escape to his room but afraid of seeming ungrateful. 

_I’ve been nothing but prickly and panicky and he just…puts up with it._

Nic hopped up and laid his brown head on Virgil’s lap with a canine huff; Virgil absently scratched the dog’s ears. 

“You know, the Grimms never explained,” he dared to say as Logan entered the living room with two steaming mugs. “And I never asked, but. What exactly does it mean, that you’re half Fae? Like, you aren’t one of us changelings, but you’re not quite one of _Them_.” 

Logan sat on the other side of Nic and walked his fingers to a spot just behind the dog’s ear, one that made Nic’s tail thump with bliss. Virgil copied the motion on the other side.

“It is exactly as it sounds. My father was a true faery; my mother is human. I am the result of their copulation.” 

Virgil spit out a mouthful of coffee and then spent several mortified seconds coughing and wiping his chin (and the poor dog) with his hoodie sleeve (and desperately fighting a blush, because he did _not_ need to be thinking about _anything_ to do with Logan and… _that_ ). 

Logan shot him an unreadable look. “The Hedgerow network still exists, I presume?”

Virgil cleared his throat and nodded, taking a proper sip. Hazelnut; Logan had remembered. 

The Hedgerow, as it was affectionately termed, was a loose association of Arcadian adults and teenagers who’d taken it upon themselves to educate to as many children in faery captivity as possible. They snuck the younger ones away and taught them to read using smuggled books, taught them their native language, history, math…anything to make up for what they would have learned in human schools. As its name suggested, it met within the Hedge, the misty, transitory realm between Earth and Arcadia, away from prying faery eyes. 

Some of Virgil’s best memories of Arcadia were of him and Patton and a book between them, pale and freckled fingers flipping pages together, giddy and giggling over being free from their master, if only for a while…

“What do they teach about the history of the Grimms?” Logan asked. 

Virgil chuckled bitterly. His Hedgerow education had been sporadic, as Deceit had kept a close eye on his thralls. Nevertheless, he thought back. 

“We learned that a group of nine changelings took nursery rhyme names and decided to save kids from Arcadia, and that Maid Maleen was their founder. Now it’s grown into kind of an underground railroad that spans most of the country, and is spreading around the world—”

“Do you remember the Founders’ names?” Logan cut in.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, wondering where the half-faery was going with this. 

“Rumplestilzkin, Red, Hansel, Gretel, Rapunzel, Cinderella, Bearskin, Rosemond, and Maid Maleen herself.”

Logan nodded. “Do they teach the Accords?”

“Only how they came to be,” Virgil said. “Apparently some human organization threatened to nuke all of faerykind off the map or something. Maid Maleen made a deal with the Autumn King of one of the Courts to stop it, but there was still a battle and she was killed.” 

He glanced again at Logan, but the half-faery seemed to be waiting for him to finish the story. 

“After that, two of the other founding Grimms, Rumplestiltzkin and Rapunzel, wrote the Accords to codify peace between Arcadia and humanity, to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. Four people signed: those two, the Autumn King, and Johnny Prince, who founded the faery hunter cult—”

“‘Smile’, yes,” Logan clarified. “Ironic name.”

“Each party kept a copy. And, uh, I guess there’s been peace ever since,” Virgil finished weakly. 

_The Accords are what outlawed fetch-making_ , his mind added. _You know, the very thing you did for three years of your pathetic life…_

Logan exhaled, setting his tea on the coffee table. 

“You are…somewhat familiar with Rapunzel in particular, then.”

Virgil frowned. “I guess?”

Logan was silent. Virgil tried again.

“Logan?”

“She is my mother.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ”

“Rapunzel. Is my mother,” Logan repeated in a louder voice, stormy gray eyes meeting Virgil’s brown ones.

“You…but… _holy trollshit_.” Virgil made an effort to shut his gaping mouth. 

Logan was the son of a Founder? And Rapunzel wasn’t just a founding member of the Grimms, or just one of the two Accords authors. She was the reason there were chapters all over the country. Mother Goose may have founded the Grimms, but Rapunzel, once she’d taken charge, had started the Grimm movement. 

“You know, they don’t…” Virgil bit his lip. “They don’t mention that Rapunzel…your mom…that she, ah, you know…”

Logan cracked a wry smile. 

“They don’t teach that my mother, as the young people say,” he whipped a stack of index cards out of his back pocket, flipped through them, selected one, and peered carefully at it, “‘got it on’ with one of Them?”

Virgil snorted, covering his mouth. “Are those…do you have _slang flashcards_?”

Logan straightened up. “Human slang is an ever-changing field of study; how else am I to keep up with the absurd ways in which humans communicate with each other?”

Virgil ran a hand over his face. 

“Whatever, dude. And yeah, they conveniently leave out of the histories that Founder Rapunzel ‘ _got it on_ ’ with a faery.”

“His given name was Oros,” Logan said in a serious voice, shutting Virgil up. “He died in the same battle that killed Maid Maleen. My mother did not yet know she was pregnant, and when she found out, she kept it quiet. My parentage has always been kept quiet.” His voice dropped. “The Courts would see me as half a thrall, a mutilated thing, or worse, leverage against the Grimms…and of course to humans, I am a freak of nature.”

Virgil grimaced at the matter-of-fact way Logan spoke. ‘Freak of nature’ was nothing Virgil hadn’t called himself in the depths of his heart. His heterochromatic eyes, his ability to grow flowers from anything, the… _creations_ Deceit forced him to make. But at least he was still essentially human. 

“What kind of faery was he?” Virgil asked softly.

For an answer, Logan splayed both hands on the coffee table. His gray irises flashed white and swirled like blizzard clouds.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, voice soft as falling snow. 

Virgil nodded slowly.

The temperature dropped as spiderwebs of frost splintered from Logan’s fingers, sparkling in the lamplight. The white lines curled into thin, whorled ice sheets, crackling as they expanded, spreading until they covered the whole table. Virgil clutched at his hoodie sleeves as his changeling senses were assaulted with pine-scented, biting cold. He could almost hear trees cracking, sap freezing inside their trunks. 

And Logan…

For the first time since Virgil had met him, with eyes glowing white and magic arcing from his bare hands, Logan _truly_ looked fae. He was breathtaking, and _terrifying_ , and Virgil fought the urge to flee, to _escape, to save himself, because Their beauty only ever brought pain and lies and despair and…._

But there was Nicodemus. 

The dog eyed the icy display with canine indifference, which forcibly reminded Virgil that this was _Logan_ ; Logan, who had a human name, and a human life, and a dog who knew it needn’t fear its master’s power. 

Logan lifted his hands, making a hazy rain of snowflakes fall from the ceiling. Virgil huffed out an impressed breath, which steamed in the frigid air, and lifted a hand to catch one. 

Logan was nothing like Deceit. Logan would not hurt him.

“So, winter?” Virgil breathed.

“My father was a lord of the Okeechobee Seelie Winter Court,” Logan said.

“I thought Winter Courts were Unseelie?” Virgil countered.

“Not this far south,” Logan explained. “Unlike in Arcadia, an Earthly Court’s alignment is heavily dependent on the local climate. Where summers are pleasant and winters are cold and dark, you have Seelie Summer Courts and Unseelie Winter Courts. But in tropical climates, with their harsh summers and mild winters, the Courts are reversed.”

“But, Unseelie are all about fear, pain, darkness, stuff like that?” Virgil frowned. “And aren’t Summer Fae light and merry and the least treacherous to humans? I didn’t think anything summer-aligned could _be_ Unseelie.”

“Clearly you have yet to experience a Florida summer,” Logan said dryly. 

He dismissed the ice and snow with a wave of his hand, vanishing it into vapor. 

“I possess all the abilities of a Court noble, if not the full strength. Against a changeling, even at the height of summertime, my power would likely triumph. During the winter season, I can be nearly indistinguishable from a true Fae if I choose.”

Virgil swallowed a tiny frisson of fear at those words.

“Against a true Fae, however, even a solitary…” Logan shuddered. “I have little inclination to test my powers in such a way.”

He picked up his tea mug, which his ice show had spared, and drained it.

“However, I hope I have reassured you that as long as you are with me, any Fae we encounter in DeLand will surely sense my protective magic over you, and hopefully, they will have the sense not to trifle with the scion of a Winter Court.”

Virgil stroked Nic’s soft head, somewhat reassured. 

“It’s getting late,” he said at last. “I’ve got class tomorrow morning, so I should probably at least try to get to bed.”

“Of course,” Logan said with a nod, sweeping up their mugs and heading for the kitchen. “Optimal sleep is necessary to perform at one’s best.” 

Virgil stood, giving Nic’s ears one last scratch, and started toward his room.

“Virgil?” Logan’s voice froze him in his tracks. He turned.

“I have enjoyed your company tonight.” Logan shot him a genuine smile that melted every last bit of lingering ice into pleasant warmth. “I should like to do this again, if that is agreeable to you?”

“Uh…yeah,” Virgil stammered, breathless again. “Sure.”

“Satisfactory. Good night.”

Virgil scurried into his room and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment. The painting he’d abandoned still sat in its easel, all red and gold and vermilion. Virgil focused on that, instead of the memory of soft smiles and ice spreading from splayed fingers.

Just color. 

Eventually he laid down in his bed, not even bothering to take off his hoodie or jeans, and stared at the popcorn ceiling. The speckling stood out in the lamplight, like bits of snow on a rooftop, like the stars Logan had tilted his head to watch, peeking out of the dusk. 

He was falling and he couldn’t. 

He _couldn’t._

Logan deserved so much better than some tainted, worthless changeling. The brambles twisted in his lungs, making him cough and roll over. 

_I can’t do this._

He remembered being thirteen years old and the changeling boy he’d met in the Hedgerow, with green-ringed eyes and a laugh like a faery chime. He remembered the whirlwind of butterflies and awkward glances and tiny smiles. The two had never spoken; quiet, anxious Virgil feeling too plain and worthless to do more than pine from afar. He hadn’t even known the boy’s name. 

An older, wiser, more cynical Virgil was convinced the guy never even knew he existed.

It came to an abrupt end when the other had stopped coming to lessons. It happened; Courts were always moving about, taking their thralls with them, but the loss had felt devastating at the time. 

Six years later, Virgil could barely recall what his teenaged crush had looked like.

The thorns, though…

He remembered the stabbing in his chest, inexplicable bursts of pain, coughing until he saw stars, while Patton rubbed his back and held his hair out of his face. He remembered wiping his mouth and finding blood, remembered spitting out wet, crimson-stained petals and panicking, half out of his mind, not knowing what was happening to him.

A few days later, Virgil had discovered he could spontaneously make flowers bloom with a touch and a thought. 

A week later, Deceit tossed needle, twine, and a mangled corpse into his cage and ordered him to fix it. That was the week he learned how to sew, and what a fetch was, and why they were so valuable. That was when he started hiding Deceit’s secret lessons from Patton.

Two years later, Virgil animated his first doll, and Patton vanished into the Hedge.

Virgil sighed, and switched off his bedside lamp. No one besides Patton ever knew that his sweet, benign flower-touch had first manifested as choking bramble, cutting him to pieces from the inside out. And even Patton had never known what Deceit had made him do with it.

But Virgil knew, more intimately than most, that the frailest flowers carried the sharpest thorns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fern:  
>  _fascination, magic_


	6. Hydrangea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Never Enough" from The Greatest Showman

_i’m trying to hold my breath_  
_let it stay this way_  
_can’t let this moment end_

Logan, Virgil had learned, was a freelance software engineer. 

Three long, fancy words; meaningless to Virgil except that they meant Logan never had to worry about money. They also meant odd hours, long projects, and a schedule that rarely lined up with Virgil’s for things like meals, or evenings lounging in front of a TV, or whatever it was that normal roommates did. 

Though now that the semester was over and Christmas was almost upon them, Virgil wondered if Logan would step up his attempts to be…Virgil shuddered just thinking about it… _social_.

“We are both natural introverts, Virgil,” the half-faery had pointed out, not long after the disastrous November walk and subsequent talk. “However, it is unhealthy to allow ourselves to become completely isolated.”

So they got into the habit of visiting Painter’s Park several times a week; Logan’s pixie trio were always pleased to see them, as were the clan of gnomes Tourmaline introduced them to. Deland, Virgil discovered, practically crawled with solitary Fae: pixies, gnomes, dryads, a lone nymph that liked to hide in the downtown fountain and cause mischief, and amusingly, a clan of elves that lived near the Stetson science building and waged a constant, one-sided war with the campus squirrels.

Virgil’s pockets began to accumulate acorns, sticks, and interesting rocks; gifts for and from the various solitaries he encountered. He went so far as to sew little scarves out of bits of cloth for his favorites…even though it wasn’t like Florida ever really got cold. Virgil, who’d grown used to Ohio weather, griped to Logan all the time. _“You’re winter-aligned, dude, how do you stand this hellhole?”_

Despite Logan’s own obvious dislike of social interaction, he kept up his efforts to draw Virgil out of his shell: walking the dog, running errands, though Virgil drew a hard line at morning runs. (Virgil had no desire to be up at the asscrack of dawn, and he was _damned_ sure he’d never handle seeing Logan shirtless again without stumbling over his own feet.)

He knew it was absurd to pretend that he didn’t have a crush on the half-faery. 

His lungs burned and prickled every night with the stupidity of it all, because there was simply no way in Arcadia that Logan would ever return the feelings. And even if he _did_ , for some fae-cursed reason… _no._

It could never happen.

Logan was just so much… _more_ , than Virgil could ever hope to be. He was well-spoken, fiercely intelligent, whereas Virgil was constantly tongue-tied and had to study almost obsessively to maintain low B’s in his classes. He was too wary, too prickly, too _paranoid_ to be likable. 

No matter what he did, nothing could change the reality that Virgil was a weakling that Logan needed to protect; “not the first changeling he’d taken in”, as he himself had pointed out.

He was damaged goods.

Sometimes Virgil’s disparaging inner voice sounded an awful lot like Deceit’s low, sibilant rants, shredding and snipping away any hard-won scraps of confidence.

He longed to ask Logan whether or not he’d heard any news on the faery, but after that embarrassing attack he’d had in the park, he was terrified of seeming afraid or ungrateful. Worrying about it made him surly, which made him worry that Logan hated him, which led to more snappishness…a never-ending loop Virgil only broke by retreating to his room to paint a song. 

On Christmas Eve, he come home from a successful job interview and decided to celebrate by finally breaking out his biggest blank canvas. 

He’d recently discovered a band called Mirabilis, and one particular song, ‘Pleiades’, would not leave him alone. It was all layered harmonic voices, drifting up and down the color spectrum against a backdrop of peaceful night sky black, and he itched to paint it.

At first he kept telling himself he had _not_ chosen it because it was the name of a star cluster and Logan had a soft spot for astronomy. He certainly _hadn’t_ spent half an hour on his phone looking up the mythology behind those stars, you know, because it was nice to know things. 

But when it was finished, and Virgil stood back to look at it…he knew it was meant for Logan. Virgil felt like he needed to give the half-faery some sort of gift. If not for Christmas, then as thanks for putting up with his anxious ass for nearly five months. 

Three pep talks and an angsty playlist later, Virgil worked up the courage to leave his room. He skulked in the hallway, the finished canvas held delicately at his side. 

_Dammit, why is this so hard? I live with the guy. There is no reason why I can’t knock on his door._

Logan had been in there all day, working. Who knew how he’d react to Virgil interrupting him? What if it was some important project? It had to be, if he was working on it during the holidays… 

_This is stupid_. He swallowed a cough and backed away from Logan’s closed door. _I’ll just wait until dinner. Or tomorrow. Or never…_

Nic gave a quiet “woof” from inside; a chair creaked. Virgil’s heartbeat spiked and he shuffled back toward his room….but not fast enough.

Logan opened his door and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Virgil,” he said. “I thought you had a job interview today?”

Forthright as always. _He doesn’t mean it as a dismissal_ , Virgil scolded the anxious part of his mind.

“Um…yeah.” He rubbed his neck, trying to casually hide the painting behind his legs. “I, uh, got the job. You know that witchy shop on Main St?”

“Merlin’s Vision?” Logan smiled. “They’re involved with the local solitary community, and I believe the first owner was a changeling herself. Congratulations.”

“Uh, thanks.”

They both stood awkwardly, long enough for Logan’s smile to fade and for Virgil to drop his eyes and fidget. _Come on, changeling, get your shit together._

“Was there something—?” Logan started.

“I have something for you!” Virgil blurted out at the same time, and flushed in embarrassment.

Logan’s expression did something complicated, and landed on something soft.

“Why don’t you come in?” he offered, opening the door wider.

It occurred to Virgil the moment he stepped over the threshold that he’d never been in Logan’s bedroom before; the thought made him flush all over again. 

A double bed took up most of the space, its dark quilt tucked in around the edges; because _of course_ a guy who wore neckties would keep his bed made. Yet another bookshelf and a dresser took up a whole wall. Nic, a well-chewed bit of rawhide between his paws, thumped his tail from his blanket-piled crate in one corner; a sleek black telescope, fully assembled, sat in the other. Two doors presumably led to closet and another bathroom. 

In contrast to his neatly made bed, Logan’s desk by the window was a riot of stacked paper and books. A laptop sat in the middle of the chaos, open to what looked like a spreadsheet. An unfamiliar pink, yellow, and blue striped flag hung on the wall next to the desk, but otherwise the room had little decoration.

“Virgil?”

Logan’s voice cut into his observations, making him startle. _Staring at his stuff like a creeper, Virgil? Way to make the guy hate you even more._

 _Shut up!_ Virgil snarled at the internal voice.

“So, I know you said you celebrate Yule and the winter solstice instead of Christmas,” he said, huffing an awkward laugh and lifting the canvas to his chest, still hiding the painted image. “And that’s cool! I mean, we did stuff for both Yule and Christmas in the Faire back in Ohio…”

_Cut to the chase and stop wasting his time._

“But well, I wanted to get you something anyway, but I didn’t really have any money and I don’t start my job until January, so I, uh, decided to paint. A song. That I thought you’d like.” 

He swallowed what little pride he had left and handed the canvas to Logan, letting the half-faery examine it.

As usual, Logan’s face showed no emotion as he tilted his head, gray eyes flickering over the soft whorls of dark teal and indigo and muted yellow. Virgil had even used a paintbrush and his thumb to splatter white specks across the expanse, accentuating the outer space look. 

“Play me the song?” Logan said at last.

Virgil fumbled out his phone and found it. Thankfully it wasn’t a long track, minimizing the amount of time he had to stand there while it played, sweating under the scrutiny.

“What is it called?” Logan asked as the last notes trailed away.

“‘Pleiades’,” Virgil answered. 

As he’d hoped, Logan visibly perked up at that.

“Like the constellation?” 

Virgil nodded.

“Did you know that the name Pleiades comes from Ancient Greek, likely derived from their word meaning ‘to sail’?” the half-faery rambled absently, still studying the painting. “Mariners used those stars to delimit the sailing season on the Mediterranean Sea. They are easily visible in winter anywhere in the northern hemisphere; dozens of cultures have stories about them.”

Virgil rolled his eyes (fondly) and shook his head. “You’re like a walking Wikipedia article.”

(Virgil, having _read_ said Wikipedia article not an hour ago, could vouch for the accuracy of that statement.)

“I merely have a deep and abiding interest in astronomy, Virgil. You know this.”

“Mmm, because the NASA shirts, galaxy potholders in the kitchen, and the telescope weren’t enough of a clue,” Virgil quipped.

Logan adjusted his glasses over narrowed eyes. 

“You know, I can never quite decide if you mean to compliment me or mock me.”

_Or flirt with you._

Virgil forced an indifferent shrug and turned away. Logan placed the painting on his dresser, tilting it so that it rested against the wall. 

“It is lovely, Virgil.” He shot a soft smile in his direction. “Thank you.”

Flowers bloomed in Virgil’s chest, warm and soft and unbearable. He was going to spontaneously combust if Logan made a habit of complimenting him. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he cleared his throat.

“So what’s with the flag?” he asked, more gruffly than he’d intended. But then again, ‘gruff’ and ‘unfriendly’ were his default settings.

Logan rubbed his chin. “You don’t recognize it?”

“Nope.” Virgil popped the ‘p’.

Logan moved to Nic’s crate and let him out; the dog immediately streaked through the open door (probably to claim his usual spot on the couch). He closed his laptop and stood at his desk for a moment, looking up at the flag. Virgil gulped when Logan turned and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, something he only did when he was very deep in thought and something which _did not_ distract Virgil _at all._

“Will you accompany me to the living room?” Logan asked. “There is something I wish to speak to you about.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, but Logan laid a cool hand on his bicep.

“It is nothing to worry about. Just…come.”

With that, he swept out of the bedroom, leaving a flustered Virgil to absently rub his arm and follow. Logan had already put on a record…some vaguely Christmasy jazz…and was busy in the kitchen. 

_Music and coffee_ , Virgil thought with a nervous smirk. _Serious Time with Logan._

“I do not know how often this sort of thing comes up for changelings in Arcadia,” Logan began without preamble, settling into the chair across from the couch after setting down their drinks. “Or changelings on the outside, for that matter. I do know that most Grimms chapters are generally quite accepting; Smile murders, for all their faults as an organization, tend to be tolerant in that respect as well.”

“Smile?” Virgil echoed. “The faery killers?”

“Indeed.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “They actually call their teams ‘murders’?”

Logan nodded as if there was nothing weird about that. “Like a murder of crows, yes. The organization is named for their propensity to slice faery throats open; I do not know why this would surprise you.” 

“Why…” Virgil said slowly, “are we talking about Smile?”

Logan took a sip of his tea and winced, quickly setting it down again. Like it was too hot and he hadn’t been careful. Logan... _never_ did that.

“Are you nervous?” Virgil asked.

“I am pansexual,” Logan stated. He took an obvious breath. “Which means that I am not limited in sexual choice in regard to sex, gender, or gender identity—”

“Logan, I…I know what pan means,” Virgil cut in before Logan could say the word "sex" again, his cheeks burning. “Plenty of queer people in the Rennie scene, you know?”

But Virgil’s brain was busy gibbering _he’s not straight, he’s not straight, he’s not…_

“I acquired the flag in my bedroom at a Pride event some years ago.” Logan folded his hands. 

“I mean, I knew there _was_ a pan flag,” Virgil said with a shrug. “I’d just never seen one.”

“I apologize if this confession makes you uncomfortable, but I thought it best—”

“Dude, I’m gay,” Virgil blurted out, then covered his mouth.

Logan opened his mouth and closed it again. 

“So I’m not…gonna judge you or whatever. If that’s what you were worried about,” Virgil added, rubbing his neck.

For a long moment, only Remy’s snores and soft Christmas music filled the room. 

“Well.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “That was easier than I anticipated.”

Virgil burst into hysterical giggles. He tried to hide it by sipping at his coffee, which only inspired a coughing fit…but by then, Logan was smiling too. 

“To coming out at Christmas,” Virgil rasped, lifting his mug. 

Logan’s smile grew and he leaned forward, clinking their mugs together. “To coming out.”

They drank, letting the quiet settle over them again. Remy came out of his cabinet at one point, sunglasses and Starbucks hat and all, and climbed onto the counter for his cream. 

“Cloves, Bear?” the little brownie said, licking the last of it from the bowl. “Nice touch. But cinnamon is better.”

“Did you know the ancient Mayans used to put chili powder in their drinking chocolate?” Logan sipped his tea.

“Do that and I’ll unbraid your hair while you sleep.” Remy replaced the bowl and climbed down. 

Logan snorted. “Do that, and I will introduce you to the several Metallica vinyls I own.”

Virgil’s eyes boggled. 

Remy, looking as offended as a two-foot-tall, sunglasses-wearing brownie could, lay a hand over his heart.

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

Logan shrugged. “I am not rude.”

“Exactly.”

Remy walked to his cabinet, sashaying his hips as he went, and abruptly turned to Virgil.

“Take note, changeling,” was all he said before slipping into his house and shutting the door with a snick. 

“Brownies,” Logan muttered.

“ _I heard that!_ ” Remy sassed in Faery, his voice muffled.

“How long has he lived here with you?” Virgil asked, swallowing a smile. 

“It would be more accurate to say that I live with him.” Logan finished his tea and placed his mug back on the table. “He was here first, living under the kitchen sink, of all places. One night I came home to discover that he had moved my vinyls out of my gramophone cabinet, organized them by color, and put them up on a shelf I had been meaning to hang.”

He gestured lazily at the shelf above the cabinet.

“So I left out some cream, as one does, and we have coexisted harmoniously ever since.”

Virgil hummed, finishing his own drink.

“Shall I make more?” Logan asked, standing and collecting the mugs.

“Actually,” Virgil said slowly, wondering how he dared ask. “Do you have anything stronger?”

Logan paused at the edge of the kitchen and looked at him curiously. 

_Don’t get attached. Don’t get…_

“I just thought, it’s Christmas Eve, you know?” Virgil said, staring at his hands. “Plus we’ve been living together for what, five months now? And I feel like we still barely know anything about each other.”

“And I know that’s mostly on me!” he added hastily, afraid Logan would get insulted. "I’m an antisocial mess and I’m hard to get to know."

Logan's brows creased as he placed their mugs in the sink. “Are you legally even allowed to drink?”

Virgil huffed. “Betsy never cared as long as I didn’t overdo it. Besides, I’m nineteen now; that’s legal in most places anyway.”

Logan made a face like he would argue, but hummed and dried his hands instead.

“I think, Virgil,” he said slowly, “that you and I have a lot in common when it comes to,” his nose wrinkled, “socialization. It has never come easily to me.”

“Right?” Virgil followed Logan to the kitchen, gaining a little confidence. “Me neither. So, I thought, maybe, we could celebrate, you know, cold…time…”

“We live in Florida, try again,” Logan interjected dryly.

“— _not_ cold time with some, like, proper drinks, and just, I dunno…” He trailed off, swallowing. “Talk?”

Logan stroked his bottom lip, and opened the pantry. He poked around on the top shelf and finally brought down an elegant dark glass bottle.

“Have you ever tasted a Summer Court cane rum?”

Virgil grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hydrangea:  
>  _thank you for understanding_
> 
> Other song(s):  
> "Pleiades" by Mirabilis


	7. Pine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anti-socials socialize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "You're My Melody" by Arion

_late at night_  
_no one’s around_  
_take off the mask and lose the crown_

“So the way you’re protecting me is kind of like,” Virgil drawled, casting around for a metaphor, “a really strong cologne? And my measly changeling aura is the bad smell you’re covering?”

“That is…one way to look at it, I suppose.” Logan said, wrinkling his nose. 

Virgil winced and swirled the smoky-sweet liquor in his glass. Only a single glass in and already he felt a growing buzz in the back of his head. More alarmingly, Tipsy Him apparently had a habit of bringing up topics Sober Him would never touch.

“I didn’t mean it in a a bad way,” he hastened to add. “Actually your cologne smells good.”

Logan cocked his head.

_Nice, Virgil, that didn’t sound creepy at all._

“I mean!” Virgil cringed. “I’ve been kind of noticing it since I moved in. It’s…” _distracting, divine,_ “nice?”

_Getting further away._

Logan wore an unreadable expression, as though not quite sure what to make of Virgil’s insane rambling. 

“I’m just gonna shut up now,” Virgil finally muttered, hunching down, his face burning. He fought the urge to pull his hood over his head and sink into the couch cushions.

“It is a fragrance oil.”

“Huh?” Virgil blinked.

“What you smell is not a cologne. I mix it from several essential oils, based on the scent profile of a candle I quite liked: mahogany and teakwood.” Logan gestured towards an oil warmer on the vinyl shelf. “I frequently use it in the apartment, and wear it on my wrists. It is subtle enough that not many people notice it; I am actually a little surprised you have.”

“Why didn’t you just buy the candle?” Virgil asked wryly. 

“Too artificial.” Logan wrinkled his nose. “Human-manufactured synthetic fragrances reek of petroleum.”

Virgil huffed. “Well, that I can agree with. I can’t stand most cologne; I prefer straight patchouli oil.”

“Yes, I noticed. You have a pleasant scent about you.”

_He…thinks I smell good?_

Virgil, suddenly breathless, violently reeled his mind away from that dangerous line of thought. His gaze was caught by Logan’s neck as the half-faery tipped back the last of his glass, grimaced, and set it down.

“I had forgotten how strong this is, even diluted,” Logan commented, picking up the bottle and swirling it. More than half remained.

“Holy trollshit, that’s _diluted_?” Virgil whistled lowly.

“I would not keep straight faery liquor in my apartment. It would be an unwise temptation, even for me,” Logan pointed out.

Virgil shrugged. “I guess. I mean, I know faery giggle water is potent as fuck, but damn.”

Logan pulled a face. “Giggle…water?”

“Booze. Liquor.” Virgil waved a hand. “You know.”

“Actually I did not.” The half-faery pulled out a sharpie and his stack of slang cards and wrote on one. 

Virgil giggled, and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Fuck.”

“You know, I find it interesting how alcohol affects people differently,” Logan commented, capping the marker. “For instance, you swear more.”

_Shit._

“Is that bad?” Virgil asked, grimacing.

Logan shrugged. “I do not see the point of such language, but I am not, in principle, opposed to its use in my presence.”

Virgil worried at the empty glass in his hands. 

“Everyone in my Faire family swore a lot; I guess I just kinda picked it up. I’ve…actually been trying not to, around you. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.” He forced a laugh. “Didn’t want you to kick out the potty-mouthed changeling too soon, ya know?”

Logan frowned, peering over his glasses. “Do you honestly fear I would ask you to leave over such a benign offense?” 

Virgil shrugged, trying (and probably failing) to look nonchalant. It didn’t escape his attention that Logan hadn’t entirely dismissed the notion of kicking Virgil out; just that he wouldn’t do it over something “benign”. Sober Him’s anxiety would have fun with that later.

Another subject he now regretted bringing up. 

“I dunno, I…” Virgil chewed his lip. Might as well get it into the open; later he could blame the rum. “I kinda thought you didn’t like me. Especially after the whole fight over the stupid cell phone, and then having that panic attack at the park…”

“Virgil.” Logan leaned toward him. “Both of those events transpired months ago. There is no logical reason for either to still be causing you mental anguish.”

“I know, I just…” Virgil sighed and rubbed his face. “I don’t know. I feel like most people put up with me because they have to, not because they actually want to. I’m too weird to be human,” he waved a dismissive hand in front of his heterochromatic eyes, “Too useless to be a Grimm, oh, and not to mention I’m technically on the run from a psychotic Unseelie Fae.”

“Oh, are we having a pity party?” Remy’s sassy voice drawled as he opened his cabinet door for the second time that night and leaned casually against the doorjamb. “Am I invited?”

“Remy, you know perfectly well that you are free to do what you please, within reason,” Logan said, glaring at the brownie. “However, I cannot help but assume from your tone that you have no intention of adding anything constructive to this conversation.”

Remy’s beady eyes, however, had zeroed in on the rum bottle. He darted from his cabinet, snatched it up, and before anyone could even think about stopping him, he’d taken a long swig. 

Virgil swallowed a snort.

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That is highly unsanitary,” he chided as the brownie placed the bottle on the table and sauntered back to his cabinet. “And you know alcohol will only make you sleepy.”

“Constructive conversation is your forte, Bear.” Remy tipped his Starbucks hat. “Sleeping is mine. Later, gurls.” 

“He _does_ sleep a lot,” Virgil commented. Tonight was the most he’d seen of the brownie in weeks, which was unfortunate, since he kind of liked the sassy little creature. Remy acted very much like a spoiled rotten cat; he spent most of the day dozing in his cabinet, only coming out to eat, complain when the cream wasn’t up to his standards, and occasionally interrupt conversations with snark. 

Logan shook his head. “Do you know, he actually introduced himself to me as ‘Sleep’ when I first moved in? I convinced him to choose something less…” he pulled out his flashcard stack again and flipped through it, “‘on the nose’.”

Virgil hummed, picking up the rum bottle as Remy had. He glanced questioningly at Logan, who rubbed his chin.

“It would not be wise,” the half-faery said slowly.

“You’re right.” Virgil sighed. Not only because the alcohol was strong and he didn’t want the hangover that would come from getting completely trashed, but…what if he said something, made a fool of himself? 

_Like you haven’t already._

Definitely safer to call it a night and retreat to his room and his music.

It was just…

This was nice. Sitting here, actually talking with Logan like they were, well, friends. Virgil found that, physical attraction aside, he did very much want them to be friends. 

Logan exhaled, slowly, stormy eyes dark behind his glasses. Then to Virgil’s shock, he picked up the bottle and poured a bit into each glass. Sweeping his off the table, Logan held it up.

“To constructive conversation.”

Virgil took his own glass and hesitantly clinked it with Logan’s. 

“Where did you get this stuff, anyway?” Virgil asked. “I mean, do you know any actual Court Fae?”

Logan held his glass up to the light and swirled it. 

“Have you ever been to a revel?”

Virgil shuddered. “Don’t remind me. Sober Court Fae are cruel enough, but they usually won’t outright kill a thrall that doesn’t belong to them. Get them drunk and rowdy, though, they might cut you open because they want to argue over what shade of red human blood is. Patton…he was my best friend in Arcadia…and I always tried to hide when our master dragged us to revels.”

Logan made a face. 

“My apologies; given your past, that was, perhaps, an insensitive question. Revels are generally not comfortable experiences even for me. I cannot imagine how perilous they would be for a human—”

Virgil waved a hand and took a sip. “It was a long time ago.”

Both were silent for a long moment.

“I was kinda wondering, if it’s not too personal,” Virgil said at last, fidgeting. “How fae are you, exactly? Like, obviously you have magic, and you _look_ like one of Them…”

He trailed off, intimidated by Logan’s unreadable face. The half-faery ran a graceful finger over the rim of his glass, finished it, and set it down.

“It would be easier, I suppose, if I was precisely half faery, half human in every aspect of my life,” he began, his voice dropping into Lecture Mode. “But that is not how genetics work, even ordinary human genetics. In looks, obviously, I am far more fae than human.”

He ran thoughtful fingers along one of his pointed ears.

“But you don’t, um,” Virgil hesitated, rubbing his neck. “Feed? Like they do? I mean, no offense, but—!”

Logan huffed and caught Virgil’s eye with a curious glance. “Surely you must know that if I did require human emotion to sustain myself, as true Court Fae do, I would not have waited _five months_ to inform you of this fact?”

Virgil shrugged, chastened, his hands twisting in his lap.

“No, in terms of diet, I am entirely human,” Logan went on. “Save for my allergy to iron, which if I remember, even you share to an extent?”

Virgil nodded, pleased that Logan recalled something from a conversation so long ago. 

“I can pass at a revel as a weak faery during the winter season, which is how I acquired this rum some years ago.” Logan gestured at the bottle. “During the summer, however, I am not much stronger than a changeling.”

“Why do you live in Florida, then?” Virgil leaned forward. “If I had your powers, I’d want to live somewhere that’s cold, like, all the time. So I’d never be weak, you know?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He stared hard at the front door, his gaze far away, and he stayed silent long enough that Virgil considered slinking off to his room and leaving the poor guy alone. Something about Virgil’s question had clearly hit a nerve.

“My mother wanted me to have as human a life as possible.” Logan looked down at his hands. “And given all that she went through as a Grimm, how she lost my father, I suppose I cannot blame her. She pushed me to attend public school, to go to college, to get a human job, start a family, carve out a place for myself in the human world.”

The half-faery looked so conflicted that Virgil fought the urge to lay a hand on his shoulder, or touch his knee, or _something_. 

“Is that what _you_ wanted?” he settled on saying.

Logan sighed. “It was a frequent point of contention between us. Against her wishes, I have maintained strong ties to the Grimms, and even to a few of my Fae kin. To answer your question from earlier, I do indeed know a few Court Fae, even though my mother disapproves.” He shrugged. “But I am also not unhappy in my current life, human as it is.”

Which wasn’t really an answer at all, but Virgil didn’t dare push further. Something Logan said earlier had piqued his curiosity. 

“Would you ever start a family, do you think?” Virgil asked hesitantly, fighting a flush. He wasn’t asking for any _particular_ reason. 

He _wasn’t._

Logan chuckled. 

“As much as I believe my mother would adore grandchildren, I do not see myself in a position to provide them any time soon.”

“Well, you’re, what, in your late twenties?” Virgil asked.

Logan grimaced. “I am twenty-two. Do I truly look so much older?”

“No! You just…” Virgil bit back a giggle. “You talk like a forty-year-old college professor.”

Logan made his squinty-eyed, "I think you are insulting me but I'm not sure" face.

“So you’ve got plenty of time to find someone, yeah? It’s not completely out of the question?” Virgil blurted out, and clenched his fists to keep from slapping a hand over his mouth. Stupid, Virgil, now he’s gonna wonder why you want to know…

“I have honestly never given the matter much thought.” Logan shrugged. “I have never been in, and am in no hurry to be in a romantic relationship.”

Virgil blinked. “What, never? Like…never been kissed, any of it?”

“I have never even been on a date,” Logan said with a self-deprecating smirk. 

Well, neither had Virgil, but Virgil knew himself to be pretty much un-date-able. Logan, on the other hand…

“But you’re…”

_Gorgeous. Smart. Perfect. So out of my league it’s not even funny._

_Who_ wouldn’t _want you?_

Logan shrugged again, looking away. 

“I am not good with people, Virgil, be they human, changeling, or Fae. I am blunt, cold, and frankly, feelings are the bane of my existence. They make no logical sense and thus, I have a difficult time understanding them. Any hypothetical partner of mine would have to be willing to put up with this.”

Virgil opened his mouth and closed it again. He wanted to list all the reasons Logan was wrong and too hard on himself…but anything he said would surely reveal his own not-quite-neutral feelings. 

“Besides,” Logan added, “my heritage guarantees I would outlive any human I might hypothetically fancy by decades, and the idea of a Fae taking a partner with human blood is absurd.”

“It happened with your parents,” Virgil suggested.

“And had my father lived, my parents would have faced this same issue,” Logan went on, undeterred. “Only in their case, my father would have outlived my mother by _centuries_. No, I am…unwilling, to subject myself or a partner to such heartbreak.”

Virgil would later decide it was the faery rum that made him say what he did.

“So maybe you’ll meet a changeling you like, one day,” he murmured into his glass. “They told us in the Hedgerow that because of the magic in us, we probably live a lot longer than normal humans. Maybe…maybe our lifespans are similar to yours.”

Logan’s thoughtful, unfocused gaze wandered back to the front door.

“Perhaps.”

Virgil’s heart leapt, which he hid by finishing the tiny bit of liquor left in his glass. 

“Speaking of changelings.” Logan stood and crossed to the dining room table. He grabbed a small paper bag Virgil hadn’t noticed. “I have something for you.”

Virgil took it with an embarrassed frown. “You didn’t have to get…what is this?”

He pulled out the palm-sized, rectangular plastic object and examined it.

“It is an inhaler,” Logan explained in a weirdly gentle voice. “Over the last months, I have noticed that you often get short of breath, and I have heard you coughing in your room at night.”

Virgil’s entire body froze in dread. _Oh no, no, no, he’s heard me, he knows what my power does to me when I think about him, stupid thorns…_

“It is my belief that you likely have undiagnosed asthma.”

_…what?_

“Given your nomadic lifestyle after escaping Arcadia, I imagine you’ve had neither the means nor the opportunity to visit a doctor,” Logan went on, gesturing at the inhaler. “Thankfully I was able to acquire this particular device without a prescription, though in the future we may want to see about getting you a proper diagnosis. I would not recommend using it on a regular basis…there may be side effects…but I wanted you to have something in case of an emergency.”

Virgil stared at the inhaler, his chest ironically choosing that moment to tighten in a dreadfully familiar way. He was flattered that Logan _cared_ …enough to notice Virgil’s increasing breathing issues, enough to want to help…

If only his nightly coughing fits could be fixed with something so simple!

_“Frankly, feelings are the bane of my existence.”_

Virgil’s hand tightened on the little device. He was never going to be able to tell Logan how he felt, was he? Better to let Logan believe he had asthma. Better to let Logan believe he was helping, instead of making it worse. 

Virgil just needed to get _over_ these feelings. 

“I…thanks, Logan,” he murmured, dropping the useless inhaler back into its bag, hating himself all the more. 

Logan smiled, a true, rare, real smile; it lifted the corners of his eyes and lit up his face in a way Virgil had never seen…and, he knew, would never unsee.

“You are very welcome,” the half-faery said softly.

And Virgil knew he was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pine:  
>  _wisdom, longevity_
> 
> The candle Logan talks about actually exists; look up Mahogany and Teakwood next time you're in Bath & Body Works. Contrary to his opinion, it does _not_ smell artificial; it's actually quite nice.
> 
> Curious what Logan looks like? [Look here.](https://www.instagram.com/p/CEPJtWFHabn/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)


	8. Iris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time, Halloween, and Logan has a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls

_and i'd give up forever to touch you_  
_cause i know that you feel me somehow_

January passed in a blur of resumed classes and the start of Virgil’s new job. 

Then in a blink it was March, and he spent the week of spring break working as many hours as the quaint little witchy shop would give him. He enjoyed the quiet atmosphere and the clinging scent of nag champa incense in his clothes. 

It made coming home and getting hit with that wave of mahogany and teakwood and _longing_ a little easier. 

And then his first true Florida summer passed, and he got to sign up for painting classes, and another semester began. 

His painting professor was a balding, opinionated character who made them prepare their own canvases and insisted they mix their own black paint instead of buying it. But his hyper-realistic, Dali-esque paintings were breathtaking, and Virgil determined to learn everything he could from the man.

Then it was Halloween night and Virgil was dressed up in the kitchen, pouring candy into a new plastic black bowl covered in grinning orange pumpkins. 

He’d sunk quite a bit of his own money…and time…into the vampire costume he wore: white frilly shirt, white face, blood red lips and fangs, maroon gloves, classy black vest, and a long, black, crimson-lined cape he’d sewn lines of white stitching into. He was rather proud of the result, if he did say so himself.

“Logan, where’s that other bag of Milky Ways?” he called out, poking around in the fridge. One of his fake fangs worked its way loose again as he spoke, causing him to grumble and spit it out. 

_Stupid thing_ , he thought as he fixed it.

Silence from Logan’s room. The half-faery had been holed up in there most of the day, working on some project as usual.

Virgil had discovered last year that Logan was, as he himself had put it: “disinclined to cater to the ridiculous commercial aspects of an otherwise serious seasonal celebration”…but Halloween had always been Virgil’s favorite “human” holiday. The cosplay, the spooky aesthetic…sure, the idea of knocking on strangers’ doors sent his anxiety through the roof, but he was too old to be expected to participate in that aspect of the night. Virgil was happy to be the immaculately dressed adult on the other side of the door, scowling and scary and waiting for the magic words.

Social interaction was so much easier with a script to follow.

Virgil sighed, adjusting his cape, and marched down the hall. 

It had gotten easier, in a year’s time, to approach the half-faery’s room. They talked more, now, and Logan took them stargazing at least once a month. He had to assume Logan at least tolerated his presence, maybe even cared a little. That had to be enough. Virgil still feared intruding into the half-faery’s life more than he already had. 

It was fine. 

Logan was an independent person; Virgil liked his space; neither of them were the sort to sit down and just talk about things, like, all the time. Christmas had been an exception, not the rule. 

It didn’t stop Virgil from seeing soft yellow light every time he walked into the living room, or tasting faery rum, or hearing Logan confess that those lovely, full lips had never even been kissed…

Virgil shook himself out of his head and knocked on Logan’s door. 

“Come in,” came the half-faery’s voice from the other side.

Virgil entered and came to an abrupt halt.

“What?” Logan asked, straightening in his chair and adjusting his (unusually loose) tie. The half-faery wore a long sleeved black dress shirt, open over a gray undershirt, but what made Virgil stop and stare was the tall, painted foam…hat?...helmet?… _thing_ on Logan’s head.

“What is that?” 

“This?” Logan twisted his head so Virgil could see the green painted ears and stitching and foam spikes poking out. “I borrowed it from a colleague. The company I have been doing software upgrades for is having a Halloween party this evening, and I am, alas, obligated to at least make an appearance. What do you think?”

Virgil frowned. _Were you gonna tell me you were going out, like, at some point? Also_ that’s _your costume?_

“It’s…” Virgil couldn’t think of a word. _Cheap? Ridiculous? I expected better from you?_ “Why Frankenstein’s monster?” he settled on. “Why not Frankenstein himself?”

Logan glowered and Virgil swallowed a smile. He suspected that high-key genius Logan would have Opinions about this topic.

“I was going to be Doctor Frankenstein,” Logan grumbled, his voice dropping, “but my colleague said, and I quote,” he gave a long-suffering sigh, “‘That dude sounds like a grade-D dork. You should be the scary monster instead. You know, the real Frankenstein.’”

Virgil nearly pointed out that Logan’s offended demeanor was almost entirely spoiled by the monstrosity on his head, but decided that would be too mean. 

“What have you working on all day?” he asked instead, gesturing at Logan’s open laptop. 

The half-faery’s jaw worked, and he quickly shut it.

“Shit, sorry,” Virgil backpedaled, rising a hand. “Invasive question, none of my business, I get it.”

“No, it’s…” Logan’s usually smooth, confident voice trailed off as he rested fingertips on the closed computer, brow furrowed. 

Logan took off his glasses, polished them, and placed them back on his face in an uncharacteristic display of…nerves? Hesitance? Neither word applied to the Logan he knew and Virgil wasn’t sure what to make of it. He remembered that he’d originally come in here to ask about candy, but he wasn’t about to veer the topic back to Halloween now.

“How much do you know about the Accords?” Logan asked.

“Um…” Virgil scratched his neck, wondering where the heck that question came from, “we learned _about_ them, but not so much what was in them.”

Logan sighed. 

“Of course. And of course you were not with the Grimms all that long.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. 

“Logan, no offense, but you have this annoying habit of introducing topics by jumping into the middle and cryptically working your way back to the beginning. It gets confusing.”

The half-faery glowered again from beneath his Frankenstein headpiece.

“Look, whatever it is,” Virgil said, spreading his hands. “Just say it. Betsy used to tell me it’s like a bandaid; sometimes you just gotta rip it off.”

Logan wrinkled his nose at the metaphor, but nodded slowly. 

“I confess I am unsure where to begin.”

“Try the beginning, maybe?” Virgil suggested, and winced; that had come out more smartass than he’d meant to sound.

Logan moved to sit on his bed, and straightened to face Virgil fully.

“I have not been completely honest about my motivations for agreeing to have the Grimms send you to me.”

Virgil took a deep, shuddering breath, pushing down the instinctive stab of betrayal. It was one thing to suspect that Logan kept a few secrets; it was another to hear the half-faery confirm it with his own mouth.

“That’s…” Virgil paused, and took a breath. “Logan, I have been here for over a year. How are you _just now_ telling me this?” 

Logan took another breath, his graceful hands twisting in his lap.

“My mother is missing.”

Virgil’s eyebrows nearly shot off his head. “Shit, dude.”

Logan nodded.

“For how long?” Virgil asked. 

“Three years, give or take.”

Virgil stopped just short of smearing his vampire makeup, and instead ran gloved fingers through his hair. _Three_ years _? That means she was missing long before I got here._ The Youngstown Grimms had failed to mention _that_. 

“What happened?”

“She was investigating a fetch-dealing Fae operating out of rural Pennsylvania,” Logan explained, his stormy gaze fixed on Virgil. “Stiltz believes she was kidnapped by the Fae she was tracking.”

 _Stiltz…oh, Rumplestiltzkin, Grimm Founder._ It still boggled Virgil’s mind that Logan was on a nickname basis with famous changelings that Virgil had only heard about in the Hedgerow. 

“He fears that this faery,” the half-faery’s voice cracked, just a little, “would have killed her immediately. I, however, believe she is too valuable to be taken and then anonymously murdered. I believe this all has something to do with the Accords, as she is one of only four signers. She _must_ be alive.”

Virgil hunched his shoulders. He wanted to lay a comforting hand on Logan’s stiff back…but like Virgil, Logan wasn’t a touchy person. He didn’t know if the gesture would be appreciated.

“Logan, that royally sucks, and I’m sorry, but…” he swallowed, “what does this have to do with me?”

The half-faery raised his head to fix Virgil with a steady gaze.

“I have reason to believe,” he said, “that the Fae who kidnapped my mother and your former faery master are one and the same.”

Shock coursed down Virgil’s spine.

“Hang…hang on, now.” He held up a shaking hand. What he wanted to do was swear, and pace the room, and give Logan a piece of his mind for dropping this bombshell, now, _months_ after he’d shown up! 

But he and Logan hadn’t fought in earnest since he’d first moved in. If Logan had finally decided Virgil needed to know this, Virgil could at least attempt to keep a civil tongue.

“You’re a smart dude, so it’s not that I don’t believe you, per se, but that’s…” he laughed helplessly. “That’s a lot, you know?”

“I apologize.” Logan’s voice was barely audible, and he stared at his lap.

“No, it’s…” Virgil stopped, and sighed, running a hand over his face again. It wasn’t _fine_. It was insane. He felt betrayed, and angry that Logan had waited so long to tell him, but he also wanted to reach over and wrap the half-faery in a hug. The guy had been missing his mom, all this time! 

Could Virgil really blame him for keeping that close to the chest?

“Why don’t we take this conversation outside,” Virgil suggested. 

One of Logan’s hands shot to his back pocket, to his stupid slang vocabulary cards, and Virgil realized what that sounded like.

“No, no! Arcadian hells, Logan, I’m not asking to fight you.” He rubbed a hand over his hair. “I meant, like, go for a walk, take Nic and get out of the apartment for a bit. Get some air. If…you know, there’s time before your party?”

Logan’s intelligent gaze flickered to the canvas Virgil had painted last Christmas, still propped on his dresser, and then into the corner of the room. 

“You know what?” Logan said slowly, eyeing his telescope. “Screw the party. I have a better idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iris:  
>  _wisdom_
> 
> Big thank you to Hero_in_Heels for pointing out a slight continuity error :)


	9. Daffodil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets and plans, and Logan gets a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Chase the Sun" by Arrows to Athens

_the stars slowly separate_  
_driving down a road that’s taking us away_  
_all i ever wanted was this_

They made the familiar journey with Nic, juggling the telescope, a blanket, and the dog’s leash between them. Humidity hung in the air, tasting of asphalt and restaurant dinner rush and that melancholy inertia unique to small towns after closing time. They passed a few early trick-or-treaters on the sidewalk, and Virgil _may_ have flashed his fangs just to snicker at their wide-eyed reactions. 

The air between the two men remained tense, however, in the wake of Logan’s uncomfortable confession. 

The three pixies joined them as they set up the blanket and telescope near the park's low graffitied wall, cooing over Virgil’s cape and giggling at Logan’s Frankenstein headpiece as they waited for full darkness to fall. 

The half-faery grumbled and took the monstrosity off. 

“Go play with Nic, you useless fireflies,” he said, waving them away…which, predictably, only made them flit wildly around his head and scold in Faery. Virgil shook his head, idly re-seating the fang that kept falling out. 

After they left, Logan pulled his chin length hair out from its stiff tail…he’d taken to wearing it unbraided and natural lately…and ran fingers through it before laying back on the blanket, hands crossed over his stomach and his gaze far away. The evening light lay soft and wanton over the dark column of his neck, dipping shadows along his jawline. Virgil remained stubbornly upright, breathless and wanting at the sight, knees to his chest and arms wrapped stiffly around them.

“Ask me something, Virgil,” Logan finally said, not looking at him. “I do not know where to begin otherwise.”

Virgil sighed, tearing his gaze away, remembering why they were here. The pixies had taken to their usual pastime of chasing Nic around the park, no more than three tiny glimmers of light in the distance.

“You said you thought my master kidnapped your mom,” he said softly.

Logan hummed. 

“Indeed. I suppose…this really started when the Grimms, or rather, Rumplestiltzkin, and several of the other Founders, decided to entrust me with…”

He paused again, and sighed. 

“Let’s just say I was given something of incalculable value, when my mother announced her intention to hunt down a fetch-dealer. She disapproved of their decision.”

“Why?”

Logan huffed out a breath. “I believe she wanted to protect me. She knew her mission would be dangerous and did not want me involved in any capacity. We…we were not on speaking terms, when she vanished.” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Virgil said softly, because it felt like something that needed saying. Logan just shook his head.

“Anyway, as a software expert, I am one of the few with access to the Grimm changeling database: my mother’s greatest achievement. When she went missing —”

“Whoa, hang on, what?” Virgil cut him off with waving hands. “A database? Are you saying the Grimms have some sort of…changeling registry? Because I did _not_ sign up for that big brother shit.”

“Of course they do, Virgil.” Logan eyed him, seemingly genuinely puzzled he hadn’t already known this. “Every changeling they know about, even those still within Arcadia. How else do you suppose they _find_ you? How do you think they track down your last name, your parents, your hometown?”

Virgil folded his arms with a frown. 

“I mean…I guess it would make sense for them to, you know, keep receipts. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Logan frowned, and Virgil nearly groaned aloud when the half-faery pulled out his ever-growing slang card stack and a marker. The sun had set while they talked, the first stars peeking out one by one. Logan pocketed his cards, rolled off the blanket with inhuman grace, and went to the telescope, peering into the eyepiece and making a few adjustments. 

Nic bounded over, a fat, gnarled branch in his mouth and brown tail wagging. Wren and Wrassey had disappeared, but Tourmaline sat primly between the dog’s shoulder blades, looking like a tiny queen guiding her steed. Logan wordlessly held out a hand for the stick, never taking his eyes off the telescope, and tossed it so that it sailed to nearly the other side of the park. Nic bounded after it. 

Tourmaline stayed, silently settling on the rim of the telescope to polish her wings.

Virgil’s eyebrows raised. “You’ve got a hell of an arm.”

“Faery strength,” Logan answered, his attention on the scope’s eyepiece. He’d temporarily taken his glasses off to focus up close and _damn_ , Virgil knew he shouldn’t find that hot but he did. Logan guided the scope slowly across the sky, pixie and all, finally pausing and twisting a knob at the base to lock the position.

“The Great Bear is nicely positioned tonight, just above the horizon. Would you like to see?” Logan asked, placing his glasses back on his nose. 

Virgil laughed softly and shyly made his way over, looking through the eyepiece. He offered it to Tourmaline, who grinned and smooshed her entire face against the glass, wings fluttering in excited little bursts.

For a while they played with the device; Logan moving it here and there and letting the two look, as he rambled on about constellations and nebulas and when various stars were discovered and by whom. 

Nicodemus came and went with his stick, content to chase no matter who threw it. 

Virgil was never as captivated by Logan as he was on nights like this, when the half-faery spilled the night sky’s secrets into the deepening dusk. He fell further with every shared look, every accidental meeting of fingers, until his chest was all twisted up and brambly and yet he didn’t want it to stop.

But tonight, his ever-present anxiety wouldn’t let the earlier conversation go. He couldn’t fully relax.

“You never finished your story from earlier,” he said rather abruptly, interrupting Logan mid-ramble. “About your mom and my master.”

The half-faery closed his mouth with a click. 

“Tourmaline, it was a pleasure to see you tonight,” he said to the pixie. “Give the sisters my regards.”

Tourmaline took the dismissal in stride, abandoning her telescope perch for Logan’s ear, which she wiggled affectionately.

“ _Rude, Bear, but I will allow it_ ,” she said in her soft, chiming Faery.

“ _Virgil_ ,” she said, zipping up to pat his cheek. Her touch was a snowflake: a tiny brush of cold on his skin, quickly gone. “ _Good luck_.” 

She disappeared into the night. 

The two returned to the blanket…but this time when Logan lay back, Virgil, unwilling to let the tenuous rapport between them fade, laid down as well. Logan folded his arms behind his head; Virgil absently brushed back his purple bangs. Both studied the star-studded sky; a little hazy due to light pollution, but clear.

“Why do the solitaries all call you Bear?” Virgil said. “Even Remy does it.”

“It is my last name. Ursa, the Great Bear.” Logan gestured to a point low on the horizon, to the first constellation they’d looked at that night.

Virgil hummed.

“Remember when I told you that my parentage was kept quiet? When I was small, Bear was the name I was told to gave to any Fae I encountered. Such was still my habit when I first moved here.” The smallest of smiles graced Logan’s lips. “I would choose differently now, I think.”

Virgil huffed in amusement. “Yeah, I gotta say, bears are not an animal I would have associated with you.”

 _Maybe a panther_ , he added silently. _Or some other graceful, deadly thing._

Logan shot him a level look, his gray eyes a mystery.

“Perhaps you do not know me as well as you think.”

Virgil didn’t know what to say to that.

Nic returned, sans pixies and with yet another branch, which Logan tossed again.

“When my mother disappeared three years ago,” he began. “I wrote an algorithm into the Grimm database to cross-reference known kidnappings, thrall exchanges, and changeling rescues within that timeframe.”

He glanced at Virgil, his glasses glinting. 

“I hypothesized that if I could predict her kidnapper’s movements, I could track him. Sometimes one can infer a great deal about a faery by studying the humans they choose to enslave.”

Virgil swallowed, wondering what Deceit’s decision to track him down said about _him_.

“Of course your name came up,” Logan went on softly. “Your rescue and my mother’s disappearance occurred within mere days and miles of each other.”

 _The fetch trade_. 

Virgil’s stomach did a somersault. Was that what Rapunzel had been trying to stop when she’d been kidnapped? _The same fetch trade that went sideways, and allowed me to escape?_ Could Rapunzel have been the _reason_ that trade had gone badly? 

He remembered how Logan had grilled him for details of how he’d fled Arcadia…was this why? 

“At the time, though, that wasn’t enough,” Logan went on. “But then, a little more than a year ago, my algorithm pulled up your name _again_ , this time because a team of Grimms in Youngstown, Ohio logged that they rescued you.” Logan’s gray eyes glinted. “ _Again._ From the same Fae.” 

Virgil bit his lip. “Does that…not happen?”

“It is rare enough that it caught my attention.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Most faeries don’t chase down escaped thralls, Virgil; they seek out new ones. Were it otherwise, the Grimms could not in good conscience allow rescued changelings to leave their protection and start over in the human world.”

Virgil turned his head to look up at the sky, frowning. 

“Deceit didn’t just stumble upon me at that Faire,” he admitted softly. “He knew I was there. He was asking people about me.”

Logan shifted up, resting his head on his hand. “Deceit?”

Virgil winced, realizing he’d never actually said his master’s name aloud to the half-faery. It was only a nickname, but hearing it in Logan’s smooth voice sent a bolt of unease down his spine.

“I never knew his name,” he murmured. “He never gave us anything to call him except Master. And even if he _had_ given us a name to know him by, I wouldn’t have trusted it, because nothing he ever said was true. Even when it was obvious, even when there was no reason and nothing to be gained by lying.”

Logan’s quiet told Virgil he was listening intently. 

“The worst part was even when you _knew_ he was lying, he had this way of getting in your head and turning your own thoughts upside down, making you question whether that ridiculous thing he’d just said was _truly_ a lie. He liked us on edge, never knowing what was real and what wasn’t…” 

Virgil paused, knowing if he kept remembering he’d have a panic attack. “So we…Patton and I, back in Arcadia, we always just called him Deceit.”

A cool hand wrapped around one of Virgil’s own, grounding him, pulling him out of the memories. He looked over into calm gray eyes and felt his racing heart slow. 

It sped up again for quite a different reason, when Logan didn’t let go right away.

“When your name came to my attention a second time, that is when I asked for you to be sent to me.” Logan’s grip tightened. “That part of our arrangement was never a lie, Virgil. I truly believe I am the only person capable of keeping you safe from your…Deceit.”

Virgil’s other hand crept up to his chest, where Logan’s charm lay comfortably cold and familiar against his skin.

“But I have also been trying to decipher the connection between you and the faery I sought,” Logan added. “Do you remember that first morning with me?”

“When I discovered your Crofters obsession?” Virgil went for lighthearted but it came out a little breathless. The half-faery was just _so close_ , and his hand was soft and wiry strong, and the effort it took to _not_ run a thumb over the silky skin was driving Virgil crazy. 

“When we went to pick up Nic,” Logan corrected. “And I asked about your magic.”

Virgil laughed bitterly. “Well, sorry to disappoint you there—”

“Falsehood,” Logan interrupted, shifting to his side again to stare ice shards into Virgil. “That is when everything began to make sense.”

Fear curled in Virgil’s chest. Logan was smart. So very, _very_ smart; if anyone could figure out what Virgil was…

“I make…I make _flowers_ , Logan,” he muttered weakly, pulling his hand away and sitting up. “How does that make anything make sense—?”

“My mother disappeared while searching for a fetch-dealer.” Logan sat up, too.

Virgil felt sick.

“The timing, the unique nature of your ability, and the fact that this Deceit went out of his way to track you down after your first escape are all precisely what has led me to the conclusion that he _is_ the fetch-dealer she was looking for.” 

Logan’s glasses caught the light of a streetlamp, hiding his eyes. 

“And I believe the reason your master pursued you all the way to Ohio is because he was grooming you to be his fetch-maker.”

Virgil scrambled to his feet and paced to the wall, to put some needed space between himself and the half-faery. _He hates me, he knows I’m an abomination, fetch-maker, fetch-maker…_

“Okay. Okay, look,” Virgil gripped the rough stone wall, not looking at Logan. “I can explain—”

“You possess the ability to grow living, organic creations from non-living material,” Logan went on. “It only makes sense that he would seek to twist that into making human replacements.”

“Replacement _babies_ , Logan!” Virgil snarled. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. Fetches are Frankenstein dolls Fae leave in human cribs so the parents don’t realize their _fucking child_ has been taken away!”

Nicodemus, bless that dog, chose that moment to slip up next to Virgil and nudge his hands, whining softly around a stick. He took the stick and obligingly tossed it.

He tensed again when Logan sat next to him on the wall.

“The insidious part of grooming,” the half-faery said after a moment. “Is that the victim usually does not realize they are being groomed until it is too late. It is fortunate that you escaped before Deceit forced you to move beyond flowers.” 

Virgil stopped breathing as Logan’s words sank in. _Wait. He thinks…he thinks I never actually did it. He thinks I was rescued before I could!_

“What do you remember?” Logan asked softly.

Virgil’s stomach turned. _Of course_ Logan would assume Virgil was the innocent little lamb in all this. Logan was good, and Virgil was…well. Actual fetch-makers were heartless and cruel; they _had_ to be, to do what they did. Actual fetch-makers went crazy and inevitably hurt people.

Actual fetch-makers deserved to be shunned.

Everyone knew that.

So of course, in Logan’s smart, logical, practical brain, Virgil couldn’t possibly be one.

Virgil bit back tears. 

“Well, at first,” he rasped, “Deceit pushed me to pull flowers out of different materials: wood, cloth, stone, even metal...I always failed at metal. Or he wanted specific ones, or a certain number of them; challenges like that. He would stomp them to pulp afterward, or make me do it.”

Logan wordlessly lay a hand over Virgil’s again. 

“At first I thought the challenges were about mocking me,” Virgil added softly, shivering under the contact. “To drive home how useless of a power it was, that no matter how _good_ at it I was…it was just flowers. Easily crushed.” 

He pulled his hand away to wrap arms around himself. 

“Easily broken.”

Silence. A cricket chirped in the nearby grass, oblivious and grounding. Logan’s voice grew hard. 

“The Accords outlawed fetch-making for good reason.”

Virgil closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered bitterly. “Because forcing a human thrall to manufacture human lookalikes out of sticks and mud in order to trick other humans is messed up even for them? Because if they don’t get to use fetches to replace the kids they take, they can’t take nearly as many?”

“And because changelings forced to use their abilities for fetch-making nearly always go mad.” Logan nodded. “Two of the original Grimms were fetch-makers. Cinder—”

“And Maid Maleen herself, I _know_ , Logan.” Virgil rubbed his face. “That’s why she formed the Grimms in the first place, and that’s why outlawing fetch-making was the one thing Rumplestiltzkin and Rapunzel refused to compromise on with the Autumn King.”

“It is also why it is imperative that I find this faery, Virgil.” Logan lifted his chin, the position making his cheekbones sharper than ever. “Find him and stop him.” 

He looked so implacable, so _gorgeously_ determined in that moment, that Virgil almost missed what he’d actually said. He just _wanted_ …

“Whoa, whoa, _what_?” Virgil sputtered, shooting off the wall. “Nobody said anything about finding him; the whole point of me being here was to get me _away_ from that mad Fae. Your mom fucking vanished while tracking him down; now you want to do the same?”

Logan sighed, and ran a hand through his loose hair. 

“Virgil, you have to understand,” he said. “Whatever game this faery has been playing for the last few years, it is clever, and it is dangerous. It is bigger than you, or me, or even my mother. Yes, you are here because I can protect you, but you are also here because like it or not, Deceit wants you. And I want Deceit.”

Virgil glowered. “Are you saying I’m _bait_?”

“The Grimms cannot allow a rogue fetch-dealer to operate unchallenged,” Logan said in a sharper voice, and then sighed. “For what it is worth, I do not intend to draw him here, to Deland. Ideally, he will tip his hand while gathering information on your current whereabouts, and I can stop him _before_ he finds us.”

Virgil threw himself back on the wall, arms folded. He hated this. He hated it, and he hated that Logan had apparently been planning this whole thing behind his back, all this time! 

Logan leaned forward and lay a gentle hand on his elbow.

“Virgil…I understand that you are afraid of him—”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Virgil snapped.

“But would it not be worth it to finally be _free_ of that fear?” Logan went on. “To live your life without looking over your shoulder?” His grip tightened on Virgil’s arm. “He is the last hold Arcadia has over you. Please…let me break it.”

Virgil realized his breath was coming in short gasps, and not just because Logan was still touching him. _4…7…8, breathe._

The lightheadedness refused to loosen its grip.

_4…7…8._

Logan’s fingers were cool through the thin material of his costume shirt.

_4…7…8._

_To be free of Deceit…_

_Logan would really do that for me?_

Pain crawled up his insides like barbed wire; warm like faery magic, warm like blood. Virgil pressed the back of his hand hard against his mouth, fighting back panic. 

_No, no, not here, not on the tail of an anxiety attack, not in front of him…!_

“Virgil, are you all right?”

Logan’s low voice tightened the thorns’ hold and Virgil knew with bone deep certainty that there was no fighting this off. 

He leaned over the wall and coughed, one cough triggering another, and another, closer and closer together until his stomach heaved and he saw black at the edge of his vision. The attack only eased up when something wet and disgusting lodged against his teeth, knocking out both fake fangs. 

Virgil spat into the tail of his cape as the last few coughs finally ripped through him, leaving him exhausted and trembling. Thankfully his back was still towards Logan and he took the opportunity to swipe the edge of his cape across his mouth. Bitter curiosity spurred him to glance at the slimy petals…because that’s what they were, he knew; flower petals…just to see. 

Small, triangular, and beneath the spit and flecks of blood, pale golden yellow. 

Daffodil. 

_Typically symbolizing chivalry and respect, but also uncertainty._ He swallowed a mouthful of bitterness. _And unrequited love._

The slick, disgusting handful went into his jeans pocket along with the fake fangs; he couldn’t risk Logan seeing and asking questions. He already felt the half-faery’s intense gaze like icy prickles on his neck.

“I’m okay,” he gasped at last, horrified at how raspy his voice sounded. He wiped his mouth again but made it look as though he was rubbing his face.

“Virgil, I know that you are prone to panic attacks, and I do not enjoy forcing you to discuss matters that trouble you. But that,” Logan gestured at Virgil’s chest, “did not look nor sound like any panic attack I am familiar with.”

Virgil felt torn between wanting to strangle Logan, with his infuriatingly calm voice and infuriatingly big vocabulary, or fall into his arms and drown. His hands twisted.

“Do you still have that inhaler I gave you?” Logan asked.

Virgil nodded miserably. “Wouldn’t fit in my pocket tonight, though.”

He looked up to find Logan still watching him, his face impassive but his eyes bright with concern.

“It’s fine, okay?” Virgil added, voice hardening. “Really.”

The slight twist of Logan’s mouth told Virgil that the half-faery did not believe him. But the infinitesimal softening of those stormy eyes told him that he was willing to drop it for now.

Logan’s phone buzzed, interrupting the moment. 

The half-faery pulled it out, seemingly disinclined to answer, but then did a double take at the name. His jaw went slack.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must take this,” he said crisply, moving away. 

“What happened?” Logan barked as a greeting, and then after a pause, “You never call otherwise, so out with it, Hunter.”

Pause. 

Virgil leaned forward to hear, thorns and feelings momentarily forgotten. Logan looked…rattled. 

“ _Where?_ ” 

Logan began to pace as Virgil watched, his heart pounding. 

“I cannot just…yes, I _know_ it is Samhain, you know how….no, that is utterly illogical…very _well_. I will be there in twenty minutes.”

He ended the call, stalked over to the telescope, and began to collapse the legs.

“Logan, what the hell?” Virgil asked, frowning. The most extreme reaction a phone call had ever gotten out of the half-faery was an eyebrow raise, so this…this was new. 

Virgil’s anxiety did not like _new_.

“We are leaving,” Logan said.

“Well obviously, but…” Virgil slid off the wall. “Who was that?”

“An acquaintance. No one you have met.”

Virgil moved to help with the last leg, steadying the scope as Logan folded it up, and seized the half-faery’s hand.

“Logan. Please just…tell me it’s not, you know.” He swallowed. His voice grew small. “ _Him_.”

Logan’s eyes widened as he understood what Virgil was asking.

“It is not.” He squeezed Virgil’s hand. “And I apologize for alarming you.”

Virgil exhaled and (reluctantly) let go. 

Logan whistled for Nic, picked up the scope and his goofy headpiece, and the three started back towards the apartment. Virgil held the rolled up blanket under an arm and took the dog’s leash, glad to have something to occupy his shaking hands. 

“You have taken this remarkably well,” Logan commented. “I am sorry to have hidden all this from you; honestly, I had hoped I would be able to track down your master within a matter of months and deal with him myself, without ever troubling you about it.”

“However, the phone call I just received makes it all the more clear that you need to know the full circumstances of your being here.”

Virgil scrubbed a hand over his face, no longer caring that he was butchering his makeup. His maroon gloves came away smeared white. 

“You really know how to do in a guy with anxiety, don’t you?”

“Along with my Grimm connections, I have contacts amongst the Okeechobee Winter Court. Through them I know that your former faery master is a shapeshifter—”

“I could have told you that if you’d asked,” Virgil grumbled under his breath.

“And that he has been on the move throughout the northeast for the last two years.” Logan glanced over.

Virgil’s fists clenched. 

“Logan, I already know I’m not going to like wherever this is going, so just get to the point.”

“Since your relocation, I have it on very good authority that he has joined the Wild Hunt.”

_The Hunt._

_The Earthside arm of the Unseelie Bale Court in Arcadia; the cruelest, most dangerous Court. The Hunt, where all the best trackers gather._ Everything else faded into buzzing. _Deceit, he’s figured out where I live and he’s coming with the Hunt, he knows about Logan he’s found us oh gods…_

He didn’t realize he’d stopped until Nic tugged questioningly at his leash, whining. 

“Virgil.” Logan stepped in front of the changeling, forcing him to look up. “Virgil, breathe.”

Virgil gulped, and shook.

“He does not know you are _here_.” Logan gripped his shoulder. “The Hunt is unpredictable, but it is also large, and chaotic, and _noisy_. If they make their way to Florida, I will know it long before they arrive and we will take precautions. You have not been discovered; you are _safe_.”

Virgil nodded, biting his lip.

“But this does mean he is no longer in Ohio,” Logan continued, “and he likely knows you have moved on as well. I did not wish to worry you before, because the Hunt is nowhere near Florida and Deland had no Hedge gaps.” 

Virgil hadn’t known that about Deland, but it made sense. _That’s probably why there are so many solitaries._

“Hang on,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You said ‘had’.”

Logan sighed. “Unfortunately it would seem that a local Court has taken advantage of the Samhain season, and tunneled a new gap. Thus the phone call I just received.”

“Where?” Virgil asked, dreading the answer.

“The Athens Theater.”

“WHAT?” Virgil yelled, startling Nic into a yelp. 

The Athens was located smack in the middle of downtown Deland. He’d passed it a number of times during his explorations.

“That’s practically on your doorstep; it’s closer to your place than the school is!”

“I am aware,” Logan said dryly. 

“What are we gonna do?” Virgil rubbed his face, further mangling his makeup.

“Right now? You and Nic will go back to the apartment, while I meet with my colleague and investigate this new problem.”

“Hang on, what?” Virgil frowned. “You’re leaving me alone? When we know Deceit has joined the Hunt and is looking for me and that _the Hunt sometimes uses the Hedge to travel_?”

“I am leaving you where I know you will be _safe_ ,” Logan countered sharply. “I will not risk taking a changeling under my protection anywhere near a new Hedge gap until I know exactly which Court is behind its creation and why.”

Virgil swallowed hard, resentment simmering in his veins. He wanted to be angry at Logan’s cold assumption that he’d be a liability. It clawed at the part of him that hungered for Logan’s approval. 

But…Logan was right. Virgil wasn’t a fighter, or a Grimm; the very thought of deliberately going anywhere near a place where unknown Court faeries might lurk made his blood run cold. 

_Logan will handle this better without having to watch your useless back as well as his own._

Once they reached the apartment, Logan disappeared into his room and returned wearing a scarf and a long coat Virgil had never seen before; both a brilliant navy blue. He’d tied his hair back again, his pointed ears starkly exposed. 

Virgil’s hand unconsciously crept up to clutch the charm under his shirt. 

The half-faery’s gaze focused on the gesture; Virgil moved closer and drew out the pendant. Logan cupped it in both his slender hands, moving achingly close to do so. Mahogany and teakwood assaulted Virgil’s senses; if he leaned in, his forehead would graze Logan’s nose. 

This close, he couldn’t help but take in all the little details of Logan’s face: thick eyelashes, tipped frost white on the ends; little indents on the bridge of his nose where his glasses sat, the way his breath was always just a little cooler than a normal person’s. The perfectly bow shaped mouth, lips pressed in concentration. 

Icy cold bloomed between them as Logan bent his magic into the charm. It flared briefly, pale white, before settling into a barely discernible glow. 

_Would his lips feel like frostbite?_

The dull ache in Virgil’s chest flared hot and he shivered. He hated how easily the half-faery sparked _those kind_ of thoughts…despite how inappropriate they were. How impossible. 

How disgusted Logan would be if he ever found out a _fetch-maker_ felt that way about him.

He tucked the twine away and backed up, taking a grounding breath. 

“I should be back tonight,” Logan said. “Do not answer the door for anyone.”

“Duh.” Virgil looked away. 

Logan went to the door, laid a hand on the knob, and paused. 

“A Hedge gap means little in the grand scheme of things,” he said. “It is likely temporary, for the purpose of a trade between local Courts. It probably has nothing to do with your Deceit.”

 _Probably_ …yet Virgil couldn’t quite make himself believe it, and from the grim set of Logan’s gaze, neither could he. 

But Virgil nodded. 

The half-faery opened the door.

“Logan!” Virgil said, the name slipping from his mouth without conscious volition. 

Logan paused. Virgil swallowed, a million things he wished he could say on his tongue.

“Be careful,” he settled on, staring down at his feet. 

The door clicked closed.

Virgil threw himself down on the couch with Nic to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daffodil:  
>  _unrequited love_


	10. Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Logan meet someone new...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "The Reckoning" by Within Temptation

_in blood and tears, a thousand times_  
_we rise against, we’ll always hold the line_  
_of reckoning_

It was after 2AM when Virgil finally heard the scrape of a key in a lock.

He’d long since changed out of his vampire costume, all enthusiasm for celebrating Halloween having faded into worry. The candy bowl sat abandoned on the table, still half full, even after Virgil practically dumped Milky Ways into the bags of the few trick-or-treaters they’d gotten after Logan left.

Nic raised his tired head, tail still thumping enthusiastically, and slid off the couch to meet the door as it opened. Virgil let out a long sigh of relief when Logan stalked in, looking no worse for wear than when he’d left. 

The half-faery rubbed the dog’s head as he toed off his shoes, and startled when he noticed Virgil.

“You did not need to wait up,” he commented, dropping his keys in their basket on the counter separating foyer from kitchen. 

“You really expected me to sleep?” Virgil asked sardonically. “What did you find?”

Logan’s teeth flashed as he sneered, but the expression faded as he took off his coat.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing of note.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Trollshit.” 

“Not even that.” Logan’s lips twitched in a brief smile. “Come, Nic, it is past your bedtime.”

“Logan!”

Virgil uncurled from the couch and followed, grumbling as his joints protested sitting still for so long. Once Nic was settled in his crate, Virgil planted himself on the edge of the half-faery’s bed.

“Don’t leave me in the dark again,” he said sharply. “What’s going on?” He wasn’t trying to be rude, but he was tired, and keyed up, and _done_ with surprises.

Logan sat in his desk chair. 

“We broke into the theater easily enough; Hunter is skilled at such things,” he began.

“‘We’? Who’s Hunter?” 

“The person on the phone,” Logan explained. “He too is a changeling, with the ability to sense and track faery magics, and to discern what manner of faery left them behind.”

 _Hear that, Virgil? Instead of you, Logan brought along a_ useful _changeling._

“Is he a Grimm?” 

Logan shook his head. “Unaffiliated. Like me, he has worked for various Grimm chapters and Smile murders, but he prefers his own company.”

Virgil snorted, jealousy thrumming through his veins. “Sounds like I’d like him.”

“You might. Perhaps I will introduce you if the opportunity arises.” 

Logan, as usual, was either unwilling or unable to detect Virgil’s sarcasm.

“The new gap was deserted,” Logan continued. “We encountered only a single faery after we went through: a Fireesin who was all too willing to talk.”

“They always are,” Virgil commented, thinking back to Arcadia and the Fireesin he’d seen there: ugly, hunched creatures, with patches of coarse brown hair all over their bodies. They were solitaries; friendly, usually not very bright, and Court Fae often used them as messengers. 

“This one claimed allegiance to the Cassedega Autumn Court, and said the gap was created because his Monarch felt the area needed one.” Logan’s lips twitched into a fierce smile. “I froze the ground to make him nervous, and he was quick to explain how his Court believed the human city of DeLand to be unclaimed.”

Virgil huffed a laugh. “I’ll _bet_ he was nervous. Is it unclaimed?’

“Yes, actually.” Logan’s voice dropped. “DeLand has always had a strong human religious presence, which Court Fae in particular find distasteful. It is one of the reasons I chose to settle here. I wanted as far away from Court squabbles as possible, and to live under no monarch’s dominion.”

“So…what will happen if this Autumn Monarch tries to claim the area?” Virgil asked. 

Logan shrugged. “It is impossible to say. The Court obviously wishes to expand their influence without the need to challenge a stronger Monarch, which means they are small, weak, or both. A weak Court should pose little threat to us, or to the humans of DeLand. The solitaries may resist, or they may not care. At worst, we may have to listen to the pixies complain for the next few months.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “So why were you so frustrated when you came in?”

“Because it is too easy!” 

Logan shot to his feet, running hands through his hair, and Virgil had to breathe and remind himself that Logan was not upset at _him_. The half-faery straightened his glasses with an irritable flick of his wrist. 

“We found this gap too easily, and we found it deserted but for a conveniently unthreatening Fireesin, who gave us a conveniently unthreatening reason for its existence.”

“Look, I say this as a guy who spends his nights coming up with worst case scenarios for everything.” Virgil pointed out. “But are you _sure_ you aren’t overthinking this?”

Logan sighed, and shook his head. 

“Any self respecting Court, even a weak one, would put a guard on a new Hedge gap. Especially a weak Court seeking to expand into unknown territory. _Especially_ on Samhain night, when the veil between realms is already stretched thin.” Logan fiddled with his glasses again. “I feel as though I was meant to find this particular gap, and then dismiss it as of no consequence. This whole evening has felt orchestrated.”

“By whom?” Virgil started, and then paled at the grim look in Logan’s eyes. “ _Him_?”

“I don’t know, Virgil,” Logan said, raising his hands. “But I don’t like the timing. Your master has been disturbingly quiet for the last year, and now this?”

He sat down again, hollow-cheeked and serious. “If he already knows where you are, I must stop him before he can get to you.”

The thought of Logan anywhere near Deceit’s sphere of influence made Virgil’s stomach churn.

“How would you even do that?” he asked, his heart pounding. 

“Ideally, negotiation. But I have a feeling that would not go well.”

Virgil scoffed. “He’d twist you into arguing that handing me over is actually an awesome idea, and then he’d just do what he wants anyway.”

“Well. I like to think I would not be so easily outsmarted,” Logan said crisply, straightening his scarf like an offended bird would smooth its ruffled feathers. Under different circumstances it would have made Virgil laugh. 

Instead he shifted his voice into a lower register, deadly serious. 

“That’s because you don’t know him, Logan.”

Logan hummed, shooting the changeling a considering look. 

“It is likely, then, that I would be forced to take more permanent measures.”

“Like…?”

“Execution.”

Logan met Virgil’s shocked expression, unperturbed.

“Isn’t killing more Smile’s thing?” Virgil asked softly. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want Deceit dead, he realized. It was just, he didn’t like the idea of _Logan_ killing anyone. Even a clever, lying Fae.

“If one faery succeeds in flouting the Accords,” Logan held up a finger, “others will follow, and we will be back to scores of missing children and mad changelings wrecking havoc, and humans who again decide blasting all of Arcadia out of existence is the only way to stop it.” 

His dark, graceful hands clenched in his lap. 

“I cannot help but wonder if that is exactly what this faery means to achieve. Everything the Grimms and my mother have worked for, all the sacrifices they made for what little peace exists between my two worlds, will have been for nothing. I cannot…I _will not_ allow that to happen.”

Outside in the dark living room, the front door creaked open and then closed again.

At first Virgil didn’t consciously register the reason for the bolt of adrenaline that crashed down his spine. Logan’s gaze whipped to the doorway and then back to Virgil, eyes wide and intense. 

That’s when it hit: _someone had opened their front door._

“I locked it,” Logan breathed. “I always do when I come in. Did… _did_ I lock it?”

Virgil couldn’t remember if he had or not. He looked worriedly at Nicodemus, sound asleep in his crate. 

Nic, who normally would have leaped to his feet, growling, if he sensed a stranger in the apartment. Who _hadn’t_ , because he’d worn himself playing fetch at the park that evening, and then again in waiting up with Virgil.

Logan rose and stalked out of the bedroom, Virgil on his heels. The living room beyond the hallway lay shrouded in darkness. 

“Well, I _know_ I didn’t turn out the lamp,” Virgil hissed in Logan’s ear.

“You could have without thinking,” Logan whispered back. 

The two crept into the main room, pausing near the dining table. Virgil’s sharp changeling eyes picked out the shapes of furniture, the glint of reflected streetlight on Logan’s gramophone, the glowing red dot that marked the fire alarm on the wall. Nothing unusual. 

Logan gripped his arm and pointed at the front door; after a moment, Virgil saw why. 

The deadbolt was unlocked.

The half-faery pushed Virgil into a crouch, a gesture that clearly meant “stay here”, and stalked toward the door. Virgil’s heart refused to stop pounding; everything in his gut screamed that something was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. 

Logan had made it halfway when a dark figure leapt silently from the shadows of the kitchen and collided with the half-faery. Virgil swore in Faery, fumbling for his phone to call 911.

It was dead. 

Virgil swore again, mashing the power button uselessly. _It was on the changer the whole time Logan was gone; how can it be dead??_

Meanwhile Logan tussled with the shadow, the two slamming into the front wall and shaking the vinyl shelf; stacks of records tumbled down. Virgil’s wild gaze caught on something long and metallic glinting in the dimness; Logan gave a shout but it was cut short.

Remy’s cabinet got knocked open and a litany of brownie swears joined the cacophony. 

“Remy, do something!” Virgil shouted.

A small vaguely humanoid blur jumped up to the wall, hit the switch, and the room was bathed in light. 

Logan, glasses askew but still on his face, was trapped in the arms of a broad, ski-masked stranger, who held a gleaming sword to his throat. Virgil froze, every nerve prickling in shock. Remy took one look at the situation and dove back into his cabinet, beady eyes peeking out through a small crack.

Brownies weren’t exactly known for their bravery. 

“Drop it,” the stranger snapped, gesturing at the phone still clutched in Virgil’s hand. 

Virgil complied, laying it down on the floor, holding his now empty hands out in a way that he hoped was unthreatening.

“It’s dead anyway,” he said evenly.

The stranger tskked mockingly, the sound muffled by his mask. 

“Let…let him go,” Virgil said, hating how his voice cracked. Every instinct screamed at him to not anger this blade-wielding psycho any further…but the sight of steel against Logan’s bare neck awoke something desperate in him. 

“Hmmm…” the stranger said, cocking his head as though considering it. “Sorry, gorgeous, no can do.”

Virgil ground his teeth, fists clenching helplessly. 

Logan opened his mouth, but whatever he meant to say was cut off in a hiss as the sword bit harder against his jawline. 

“ _You_ better keep your pretty faery mouth shut, my pointy-eared amigo,” the stranger hissed.

_Faery._

Virgil’s heart dropped. 

If this stranger knew about faeries, he was no ordinary burglar or murderer. And since no faery had reason to wear a mask and carry a samurai sword, this was either a rogue changeling with some grudge…Grimms certainly didn’t do shit like breaking into people’s homes; and besides, Logan _worked_ with the Grimms…or he was a Smile hunter.

And if Psycho-blade was a faery hunter, Logan did look _awfully_ fae to someone who didn’t know better.

_Shit._

“What do you want?” Virgil tried anyway. “If it’s money you’re after—”

“Oh, nothing like that,” the stranger answered flippantly, pulling Logan’s hair so the half-faery was forced to bare his neck further. “Just his life.”

_Definitely Smile._

Virgil swallowed hard. He hoped the stranger couldn’t see how badly he was shaking.

“Look,” he started. “Can we just, I dunno, talk about this?”

_Ah yes, brilliant, Virgil; let’s sit down and have a nice calm discussion with Smile Hunter Samurai here, who wants to cut your crush’s throat._

The stranger laughed. 

“The faery isn’t in any position to bargain, so you can drop the charade now, Panic at the Everywhere.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up. “Panic at the…hang on, I’m sorry, what charade?”

The stranger plowed on.

“He can’t use his magic so long as my blade is touching his flesh. There’s no need to placate him; you’ll be free of him soon enough.”

Virgil was pretty sure he was making one of those confused meme faces. 

Logan rolled his eyes.

“He thinks you’re a thrall and under my control,” the half-faery clarified. 

“Shut up, demon!” the stranger snarled. “The only reason I haven’t killed you already is because I’ve no wish to traumatize your changeling by breaking your hold on him by force.”

It was Virgil’s turn to roll his eyes. “You think you’re rescuing me?” 

“I _am_ rescuing you!” The stranger’s voice cracked indignantly. 

“Well you’re doing a shit job, because the ‘faery’ you’re got is on our side, dingus!” Virgil snapped back, making air quotes with his fingers.

The stranger sighed dramatically, and adjusted his hold on Logan.

“First of all, rude,” he said. “I didn’t want to do it like this, but clearly you won’t see the light until I end this miserable creature’s life.” 

He leaned close to Logan and caught his gaze with such an intense look that Virgil felt his heart stop cold. 

“ _Smile._ ”

The sword slid, almost in slow motion to Virgil’s terrified gaze, across Logan’s exposed skin. 

Fear sparked in Logan’s eyes. 

Virgil’s body reacted before his mind could catch up, flinging him across the room with a shout. He caught the blade, grunting as the metal edge sliced his palms, and pushed it away; both with his muscles and with his magic. 

The stranger cried out as his sword bubbled and burst into orange lilies and deep purple aconite blossoms. Virgil’s momentum carried him forward, his shoulder colliding with the wall, elbow cracking into someone’s face, and all three went down in a confusion of limbs. 

Hands seized Virgil and dragged him back; Logan’s hands on his shoulders, _Logan is okay, thank gods_. The swordsman shifted fluidly to his feet and grabbed for his weapon…but found only a flower-studded branch of bark and leaf and blossom. He paused, and shook it, like he expected his blade to emerge from inside. 

The part of Virgil’s mind that wasn’t spinning with adrenaline noted, inanely, that fear for someone else had spurred the one thing Deceit’s torture and mind-fuckery had never accomplished. Virgil had successfully transformed metal.

“What did you do, you miserable beast?” the stranger moaned, shaking the flowers again. Purple petals floated to the floor. “This is an irreplaceable heirloom. Change it back this instant!”

“Sorry, gorgeous, no can do.” Virgil snarkily echoed the dude’s earlier words. 

Remy’s cabinet snickered. Even Logan let out a quiet chuckle as the stranger continued to rant.

Virgil didn’t laugh. 

Maybe being threatened by a flower branch was absurd, but Virgil’s palms stung and in his mind he saw metal sliding across Logan’s bare neck, the thin line of blood under his jaw. Beneath the giddiness of having saved Logan with his power, he was still _pissed as hell_. 

The stranger threw the ‘sword’ aside and actually stamped his foot.

“You are infuriating!”

Virgil bared his teeth. “You tried to kill my friend and _I’m_ infuriating?”

“How can you defend this monster?” The stranger gestured at Logan, who merely adjusted his glasses. “I see your eyes! You’ve lived in Arcadia; you _know_ what they’re like!”

“He’s only half faery, and he’s not an enemy,” Virgil snapped back.

Remy finally emerged from his cabinet and leaned casually against it.

“’Tis the truth, y’know,” he said.

“Shut up, brownie.” The stranger sneered. “'Half a faery', my pretty ass. There’s no such thing.”

Virgil sneered back. “Is that what _Smile_ told you?”

He didn’t realize he’d been stalking forward until the stranger’s covered face was only inches from his own. The mask covered everything except the eyes, which were dark brown, thickly lashed, and bright with anger. Virgil noted the deep red rings around the pupils.

Changeling eyes.

“Why won’t you just let me kill him!” the stranger shouted.

“Says the one who doesn’t even have the courage to show his face,” Virgil shoved him, “you damned murderer!”

“Children, enough!” Logan cut in sharply. Cold, thin hands pushed them apart as the half-faery stepped between them. 

“Now—” he started.

The stranger snagged Logan’s wrist. Virgil moved to stop him…and found himself on his ass, his breath coming out in white plumes, as a white-eyed Logan towered over him. Ice crackled out of the floor to encase the stranger’s feet and crept, slowly, up his legs.

“I would advise you,” Logan said calmly, “to release me.”

The guy practically flung Logan’s hands away and held up his own, nearly losing his balance in the process. Virgil was gratified to see the guy shaking. 

“Not so brave now, eh?” he sneered, climbing back to his feet.

“I said enough!” Logan repeated, his voice an icy shard.

Virgil folded his arms, glowering, and happened to meet Remy’s eyes across the room. The brownie shot him an encouraging thumbs up.

 _Helpful, Remy_. Virgil fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Logan reached out…the stranger flinched…but he merely plucked the mask from the guy’s head and tossed it to the floor.

“Now,” he repeated, adjusting his glasses. “What should we call you?”

Virgil’s glower deepened.

By phrasing the question as he had, Logan had given the stranger the space to keep his real name secret. He couldn’t fathom why Logan would trap the guy only to extend the politeness of allowing him to use a pseudonym.

But Virgil trusted Logan, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Sometimes I go by Charming,” the stranger allowed at last, narrowing his eyes. 

Logan’s mouth twitched into a smile. 

“Then you may call me Logic.”

_Not ‘Bear’ this time?_

Virgil swallowed a smirk when he saw Logan looking at him expectantly. After a moment of panic, he blurted out the first word that came to mind.

“Anxiety,” he drawled with a mock salute. “So _dis_ pleased to meet you.”

Charming huffed. “You…are an emo nightmare.”

Virgil pretended to look offended, and then smiled. 

“Why, thank you.”

A muscle in Charming’s jaw twitched.

“How about you, brownie?” Charming asked, casting his gaze at Remy. “You got a name, since apparently we’re all getting friendly?”

Remy eyed Charming over the top of his sunglasses.

“Hmm. How’s about ‘Fuck Off’?”

And he whipped his cabinet door shut. Virgil snorted, wishing he could do the same.

Logan had gone to the kitchen.

Both changelings shared baffled looks as the half-faery filled the kettle and retrieved mugs, as though Charming was just another guest. Virgil, in particular, was starting to feel extremely put out. Why was Logan humoring this guy?

Maybe, Virgil thought, it was because without the mask and sword, Charming looked less like a psycho killer and more like an average young Hispanic guy; probably around the same age as Virgil.

He wore black jeans and a long sleeved shirt over a fighter’s physique, black converse, and black gloves over fidgeting hands. Those hands were the only hint of unease; otherwise he stood confident and cavalier, hip cocked to one side. Proud eyebrows. Wide, haughty mouth. His lion-brown hair was sun-bleached, blue-streaked, and gathered in a short, messy tail at the nape of his neck.

“Your shirt’s inside out,” Virgil commented.

Charming looked down at himself and raised an eyebrow. “Duh. I was hunting.”

_Okay, then. Weirdo._

“Um, Logic,” Charming asked, raising a hand like he was in school. “Can you…maybe…unfreeze my feet?”

“If you are inquiring as to whether such an act is within my capabilities, I assure you that it is,” Logan answered, his back still turned, pulling teabags from the cabinet. 

Remy momentarily stuck his head back out. “That was a ‘no’, lad,” he mock-whispered.

Charming shot the snickering brownie an ire-filled glance, and glanced at Virgil when Remy vanished again. Virgil answered with a shrug and casually flipped him off. Charming made a delightfully offended noise.

“Does he always offer humans a drink before he entraps them?” he asked in a softer voice.

Now that the danger was past, Virgil almost felt bad for this idiot. He had no way to know that Logan was harmless and was, in fact, acting aloof and mysterious now just to mess with him. Charming still believed Logan was a true faery, toying with his prey, and Virgil remembered that feeling all too well. 

But Virgil was in no mood to be empathic. This guy had tried to _kill Logan._

“Stick around and find out, Princey,” he said nastily.

“Now, Anxiety,” Logan said, coming around the partition with mugs in hand. 

He handed one to Virgil and the other to Charming, who took it with a deeply suspicious expression. He sniffed it, frowned, and deliberately set it on the counter untasted. Rude…but smart, given what he believed Logan to be. 

Logan gave a small nod and a smile, and went to retrieve his own mug.

Virgil studied Charming again.

The guy carried nothing; no tools, no other weapons, only a spray of St. John’s wort stuffed into his back jeans pocket. And yet, somehow he’d waltzed right into the apartment with the intent of taking out a winter faery with nothing but a sword? 

“How in the seven Arcadian hells did you even get in here?” Virgil demanded. 

“Indeed.” 

Logan exited the kitchen a second time and walked to the gramophone, mug in hand.

“It is particularly interesting that you broke in on the one night I neglected to lock the door. Also the same night my dog is _conveniently_ passed out in the other room, and the living room was _conveniently_ dark despite Anxiety being sure he left a lamp on.”

He selected a record from his collection and slid it from its sleeve. Virgil was used to Logan’s eccentric little routines, but Charming watched with narrowed eyes.

“Plus my phone was dead,” Virgil added. “When I know I charged it.”

Logan set the vinyl to play and straightened to face Charming with a bland expression. Soft classical music filled the room.

Charming pretended to buff his nails on his shirt. It would have looked a lot more nonchalant if he wasn’t still wearing gloves.

Logan sipped his tea.

Virgil gulped his own coffee to hide a sneer. Charming clearly had an ego; if he was, somehow, behind the inexplicable series of mishaps that had allowed him to break in, eventually he’d give in and brag.

Logan could be _infuriatingly_ patient when it suited him.

“Sounds like a string of bad luck on your part,” Charming finally said with a shrug, but with a sly expression that set Virgil’s hackles prickling.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

Charming tried to shift his weight, but with his feet frozen to the floor, he lost his balance. Virgil snorted in glee as he windmilled and caught himself on the counter edge.

But in doing so he swiped the untouched coffee mug to the floor.

Splashing scalding liquid over his frozen feet.

Charming grinned, all teeth.

Before either of the other two could react, he’d kicked his feet free of their icy prisons and stumbled toward the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orange lily:  
>  _hate, pride, disdain_


	11. Shamrock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he's here...what do we do with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "House of Memories" by Panic! at the Disco

_if you’re a lover, you should know_  
_the lonely moments just get lonelier_  
_the longer you’re in love_

Logan recovered first, eyes flashing white. Ice spiderwebbed from the door knob and froze it solid in seconds. Charming snatched up the spilled mug; it was empty. Growling, he tossed it aside and rattled the frozen knob, and when that did nothing, he resorted to beating on it with his fist.

“You are wasting your energy,” Logan said.

Finally Charming slumped, his back still to them. 

“You will be my guest until I have interrogated you to my satisfaction.” Logan smiled thinly, his voice deceptively pleasant. “You will not be harmed, but you will not be leaving. So you may as well make yourself comfortable.”

The half-faery sat on the couch, crossing a leg and adjusting his glasses.

Virgil glanced at Charming, who’d turned and glowered.

“What are you looking at, Hot Topic?”

Virgil’s mouth twisted and he fluttered his eyelashes. “Aww, you think I’m hot.”

Charming said nothing, though his cheeks darkened. Winding this guy up was quickly becoming Virgil’s favorite activity of the night. 

He marched to the couch and perched on the cushioned arm. 

“I’m not the bastard who tried to cut his throat,” Virgil added, gesturing at Logan. “You should feel lucky he’s in a good mood.”

Charming rattled the doorknob again, though it was clearly pointless.

Logan sipped his tea.

“I hypothesize that you possess the ability to alter small, seemingly insignificant events in your favor,” the half-faery said. “To manipulate luck, as it were. The lock, my dog’s exhaustion, the lights, Anxiety’s phone, even the coffee just now. Hot liquid weakening my ice just enough to facilitate an escape attempt.”

Charming’s shoulders drooped as Logan spoke. Virgil was impressed at how easily Logan had seized the upper hand from his attempted assassin. 

“Such magic is subtle, but powerful in the hands of a changeling creative enough to generate unorthodox solutions to problems, and courageous enough to carry them out,” Logan went on. “However, due to the interconnected nature of existence and your human ignorance of the Contracts of creation, I speculate that your control over this power is unpredictable; subject to whim, circumstance, and the free agency of others.”

He leaned forward, white sparkling through his irises again. 

“Which is why Anxiety was able to render your sword harmless, and why your attempts to overpower me from here on out will continue to fail.”

Sometimes Virgil feared Logan’s razor-edged calm as fiercely as he admired it.

“Fuck you, faery,” Charming muttered, but with more bitterness than heat.

Virgil wondered what Logan ultimately intended to do with this guy, once he finished his verbal evisceration. Maybe he hoped to get information or something.

Logan finished the last of his tea and set the mug down with a clack. 

“What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why Smile would send a hunter to kill me when I have no quarrel with them, and as far as I am aware, they have none with me. In fact, I have worked with them in the past.”

Charming whipped around to stare with wide eyes. 

A knowing grin spread across Logan’s face. 

“Ah. So they did _not_ send you.”

“How are you doing that?” Charming spat out, true anger finally showing on his face. “I haven’t even said anything!”

“You just did,” Remy’s voice snarked from his cabinet.

“Bet you aren’t even an actual Smile hunter,” Virgil cut in with a grin. 

“I am!” Charming shouted, clenching his fists. But the fight seemed to go out of him, and he dropped his gaze to his shoes. “Or I will be, once I make my first kill and bring Kate proof.”

Logan’s eyes lit with understanding.

“Is Kate your Smile girlfriend?” Virgil snarked, just to be contrary. “Kinky.”

“Don’t be a creepy cookie; she’s my mentor,” Charming corrected.

“Smile recruits much like the Grimms do,” Logan explained, catching Virgil’s confused gaze. “They rescue changelings, though to a lesser extent, as it is not their primary mission. However, unlike the Grimms, they allow ordinary humans to join their ranks, and they have one additional requirement: you must slay a faery. Specifically a Court Fae; solitaires do not count for them.” 

Logan smiled, a sharp expression full of teeth and cold. 

“Smile sent Charming here after a Court faery, _any_ Court faery, and he had the misfortune to decide I fit that description.”

“Well, you chose hella poorly, Princey.” Virgil leaned back and shot Charming a shit-eating grin. “’Logic’ here is only half of what you need to join your little murder cult.”

“First of all,” Charming retorted, holding up a finger. “I don’t believe you. Secondly, Smile is not a murder cult; we do what needs to be done to protect humanity from _Them_.” He thrust his chin at Logan. 

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“And thirdly…” Charming pouted. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What? Princey?” Virgil shrugged. “Like, Prince Charming. I thought it was obvious.”

“Oh.” 

Charming’s face did something complicated and then he smiled; all charm and little mirth. Virgil hated that he noticed the dimple in Charming’s left cheek.

“I was Hedgeside when I saw you with the other changeling,” Charming admitted to Logan. “Your disguising glamour was weak, compared to the Court Fae I remember, so I thought you’d be an easy target. I didn’t want to strike with another changeling there, so I followed you home.”

“And you never stopped to wonder why a faery would have an apartment outside Arcadia?” Virgil asked scathingly. “Never asked yourself why a faery and a changeling were working together in the first place?”

“Now, Anxiety,” Logan cut in, and Virgil was never going to get used to this stupid name game, “to be fair, faeries do frequently act in inexplicable ways.”

“It’s cute how you keep talking about faeries as though you aren’t one of them,” Charming said.

“He’s _not_ , dumbass,” Virgil snarled, and turned toward Logan. “Why are we ‘being fair’ when he tried to kill you?"

“Anxiety,” Charming said in a lower voice, and Virgil was definitely regretting picking that as an alias. “He’s not human, and he’s not a changeling. With his powers, the only other possible category is fae. There aren’t, like, levels of fae-ness; you’re either one of them or you aren’t.” 

“Unless you are half, as Anxiety and my house brownie have pointed out several times,” Logan said coolly. “My father was a Fae, my mother is human.” 

Charming scoffed. 

The guy’s unwillingness to listen was starting to get on Virgil’s nerves. 

“His mother is Rapunzel, so maybe show a little respect,” he blurted out, exactly a half second before realizing maybe he should have checked with Logan before revealing that bit of information. 

“Rapunzel,” Charming repeated flatly. “As in, Grimm Founder Rapunzel. _That_ Rapunzel.” 

Logan shot Virgil a withering look, causing him to flush in shame and hunch into his hoodie. _Just can’t help putting your foot in your mouth, can you?_

“Yes,” the half-faery said crisply. “ _That_ Rapunzel.” 

Charming sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Bleedin’ redcaps, ‘Logic’,” Remy muttered, poking his head out again and looking at Logan this time. “Thought you’d show a bit more care in keepin’ that secret.” 

“If you insist upon hiding and then inserting yourself into this conversation whenever you please,” Logan snapped, shooting the brownie a glare. “You can at the very least fetch your own cream while you do so." 

Remy blew wispy bangs away from his forehead, but obediently marched into the kitchen. Charming’s eyes followed the irate brownie as his yanked open the fridge and pawed around, grumbling under his breath. 

_Brownies can’t lie_ , Virgil remembered suddenly. _Charming has to know that._

Charming looked back at the still-frozen doorknob, and then at the two on the couch. 

“Anxiety,” Logan said, and it took a few seconds for Virgil to remember that the half-faery was addressing him. 

“Go to my desk and look in the middle drawer. It has a false bottom that will open only with my magic. Lay your pendant on it, pull out the document stack you will find inside, and bring it here.” 

Virgil’s heart pounded as he slid off the couch and went into Logan’s room. 

Nic was still sound asleep in his crate. _Useless mutt_ , Virgil thought fondly, pausing to stroke his head and ensure that the poor dog was still breathing. Moving on, he opened the desk drawer and moved the ordinary papers, careful not to mix them up. He laid his pendant in the drawer, and heard a tiny snick. 

The bottom came out easily; he laid it next to the paper stack. 

Virgil pulled out another, very different stack of papers. These were heavy, thick, crinkly sheets, covered in flowing black cursive; they reminded him of pictures he’d seen of the US Constitution, only newer. 

The title of the first page caught his eye. 

_The Accords, reached between the Divine High Seelie Court of Arcadia and Certain Adam-Khavani of the Mortal Realms._

He nearly dropped the whole stack in shock. 

_The Accords._

_Logan has a copy of the Accords._

_Here._

_In this apartment._

“Holy shit!” 

“Bring it out here, please,” Logan called dryly from the living room. 

Virgil did, emerging from the hallway knowing he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Charming raised an eyebrow. Remy had perched on the countertop, cross-legged and sipping from his bowl, also watching. 

Virgil only had eyes for Logan. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” he said again, clutching the precious document to his chest. 

“Show him,” Logan ordered. “Charming, here is your proof of my heritage.” 

Charming marched over. Virgil wordlessly held out the stack; Charming’s face paled. 

“Holy shit,” he muttered. 

“Don't steal my line, Princey.” 

“Shut up!” Charming whirled to face Logan. “Where did you get this? How…only three copies were ever made." 

“You are correct.” 

Logan crossed the room to take the stack from Virgil’s lax hands. The half-faery ran a contemplative thumb over the crinkly parchment. 

“Three copies were made, given to the three parties that signed.” Logan pulled out the last page, where several messy signatures sprawled. “One is kept by the Eerie Autumn Court, which I believe is still ruled by the same King who signed. Another is kept by Smile, though I do not pretend to know specifically by whom.” 

“And the final copy is kept by the original Grimm chapter.” Logan’s mouth compressed. “Specifically, it was kept by Rapunzel, my mother. When she left on her mission two years ago, she recommended the Grimms’ copy be given to a third party for safekeeping, and to make it difficult for the Accords to be used as ransom, should she be captured.” He grimaced. "A wise precaution, as it turns out." 

Virgil gasped. “That’s what you fought with her about! They decided to give it to _you_." 

Logan nodded. 

“Very few know of my existence, fewer still my connection to her. The other Founders knew no one would look for the document here.” 

“You _knew_ about this?” Charming hissed at Virgil. 

The changeling pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Not…this bit.” 

“Did _you_?” Charming whirled on Remy. 

Remy winked, his grin made ghastly by the cream dripping from his chin. Disappointment curled in Virgil’s stomach. _Even the fucking house brownie knew the Accords were here, and I didn’t. More secrets, more lies of omission._

He’d hoped that after his and Logan’s talk in the park, Logan would trust Virgil with anything big like _having a copy of the fucking Accords._

Apparently not. 

“My mother is Rapunzel, and Rapunzel is human,” Logan pressed, looking his would-be killer in the eye. “You, being part of Smile, know I cannot possibly possess Smile’s copy of this document. You know this isn’t the Autumn Court’s copy, because I am clearly not an Autumn Fae. And you know the Grimms would never entrust their copy to a true faery.” 

He stood nose to nose with Charming, who raised his chin and stood his ground. Logan and Charming were the same height, and though Charming was broader, Logan somehow managed to look more solid, more intimidating. 

“I am a half blood. The Grimms know it, and worse for you, Smile knows it. My severed head will not grant you the rank you seek.” 

Charming ran a hand through his blue-streaked mane and looked away. 

“Alright,” he said at last. “You…you make a good case.” 

Virgil opened his mouth to snark, but Logan silenced him with another sharp look. 

“If I may ask, Charming,” Logan said. “Are you from a local Smile murder? I was not aware that there were any operating in this county at present.” 

“Oh, no, my murder’s up in Philadelphia.” Charming shrugged. 

Virgil exchanged a look with Logan. Pennsylvania was only one state away from Ohio. 

Logan narrowed his eyes. “How did you end up in DeLand?” 

“I’d been tailing the Hunt for a while as they went south, and eventually outpaced them.” 

Virgil felt his face pale. 

_The Hunt is headed south, and Deceit is with them. None of this is a coincidence._

“But, look,” Charming went on, holding out his hands. “‘Logic’, or whatever your actual name is, just…why am I still here? I’m _nobody_ ; like you said, I’m not even a proper Smile hunter.” He dropped his arms, his handsome face pinched. “Just let me go. I’ll find another target. You’ll never have to see me again." 

Virgil noticed that Logan’s record had ended, the gramophone now emitting nothing but soft static. 

“Where?” Logan asked. 

“What?” Both Charming and Virgil asked simultaneously. Their eyes met and they glared. 

“Where will you go?” Logan set the Accords on the coffee table. “It is my understanding that Smile will not allow you to return to them until you have completed your mission.” 

“Oh, well…” Charming’s forehead creased, like he hadn’t expected the question. “I usually just find a cheap room, or crash on a park bench or whatever.” 

Logan looked at Virgil. 

Virgil looked back at Logan. 

But it was Remy who figured it out first. 

“Oh, curse yer bleedin’ heart,” the Fae snarled, setting down his bowl with a clack. “Ye’ve have got to be shitting me.” 

“We have the room,” Logan argued. 

And Virgil got it. 

“The _fuck_ , dude? I’m with the brownie,” he spat, waving his hands for emphasis. “Have you forgotten that he tried to _kill_ you? What if he waits until we’re asleep and tries again?" 

“He won’t.” Logan shot an inscrutable look at Charming. “Will you?” 

“I’m sorry, what is happening here?” Charming asked, looking between them all in confusion. 

“My sofa converts to a bed.” Logan gestured to it. “I would offer you a place to, as you put it, ‘crash’ for the night.” 

Remy threw up his hands and hopped down from the counter. 

“No, by all means, overrun the gaff with changelings; your house and all. I’ll have no part in this gobshite. Good night.” 

He stalked into his cabinet and slammed the door, and this time Virgil heard the snick of a tiny lock. Logan let out a huff of annoyance. 

Charming blinked. 

“Um…as much as I hate to agree with a house faery, or Brad Pitt-iful over here—” 

“Hey!” Virgil protested. 

“— they’re right,” Charming said with a frown. “Why in Arcadia would you let me stay after what I did?” 

“You had understandable motivation for your actions.” Logan folded his arms. “But now, you have no easy way to finish what you began, and furthermore, I believe I have sufficiently proved that I do not satisfy your requirements. Plus I do not think even Smile would look kindly upon one of their own murdering a faery while he slept, especially after said faery had offered them hospitality and done them no harm.” 

He straightened his glasses. “Therefore, by any logical reasoning, killing me now would gain you nothing.” 

Virgil growled and turned away, pacing into the kitchen and back again. 

“Look, I…” Charming held up his hands. “I wouldn't want to impose…” 

“Damned right you don’t!” Virgil snarled. 

“V—Anxiety!” Logan yelled, almost giving away Virgil’s real name. Virgil knew that meant he was really upset, but he was too pissed off to care. 

“No, you do _not_ get to make me the bad guy here! He’s a self-avowed faery killer, and letting him stay is a terrible idea.” 

“It would just be for tonight.” 

Logan’s utter calm only made Virgil angrier. He tugged at his hair, a bitter laugh bubbling up. 

“Oh, sure, just for tonight. Maybe we should just invite Deceit around too, while we’re at it, and let them fight it out!” 

Logan blinked. 

“You know…” he said slowly, his expression contemplative, “that is an excellent idea.” 

“Wait…what?” 

“Who’s Deceit?” Charming asked. 

Logan licked his lips and eyed Charming up and down. 

“Possibly your ‘alternative target’.” 

He began to pace. 

“Charming, you need a place to stay until you kill a Court faery. I need a fetch-dealer eliminated, and I have no current Smile contacts. Everyone wins.” 

Charming’s eyes lit with interest. “A fetch-dealer? Those are the worst.” He turned to Virgil and smiled widely. “Kate would like it. _I_ like it.” 

"I wasn’t…” Virgil reeled over how fast this conversation had gotten away from him. “I wasn’t trying to be helpful.” 

“Very well, then.” Logan clapped his hands sharply. “It is decided. I will fetch some sheets and pull out the bed.” 

He strode to the hall linen closet to do just that. 

“Um…can I get my backpack, then?” Charming called in a hesitant voice. “I left it downstairs with my bike.” 

Logan threw a gesture over his shoulder; the ice around the doorknob crackled and vanished into vapor. Charming smirked and met Virgil’s incredulous gaze. 

“Still don’t like you,” he muttered. 

Virgil narrowed his eyes. 

“What was that?” 

“Eh, chim chim cher-oo!” 

Charming grinned and saluted. 

“The fuck does that mean?” 

“Mary Poppins, you uncultured swine!” 

Then Charming was out the door and had slammed it behind him. Virgil closed his gaping mouth and ran hands through his purple bangs, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. 

“Who,” he muttered, “the fuck is Mary Poppins?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamrock:  
>  _good luck_


	12. Tamarisk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life with Charming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Ever Dream" by Nightwish

_ever felt away with me_  
_just once that all i need_

On his last day of fall semester classes, Virgil was unpleasantly dragged from sleep. Not by his alarm, but by the sound of someone banging around the kitchen and belting at the top of their lungs. 

He dressed for class, throwing on his hoodie and backpack and stalking into the living room, stopping short at the sight of Charming dancing around a pan of bacon and eggs. The clod was clad in nothing but Toy Story boxers and the worst case of bed head Virgil had ever seen. 

November and most of December had passed in a blaze of unseasonable heat, even for Florida, and _Prince Charming_ became an annoyingly permanent fixture in Logan’s living room. Over the course of two months, he managed to barrel his way through Virgil’s peaceful existence with the grace of an over-eager lion cub in a candle shop, making messes and starting little fires everywhere. 

He kept his alias name long after Virgil was sick of hearing it, despite seeming to otherwise trust them. This meant neither Logan nor Virgil could go by their real names in his presence until someone decided to let their guard down. 

Virgil hated it. 

His alias, ’Anxiety’, was everything he never wanted to be and everything he feared he was, and hearing Logan address him as such felt like a splinter to the gut every time. It made him surly and sour…well, more so than usual.

“Good morning, my chemically imbalanced romance,” Charming crooned, catching sight of him. 

Oh, and there was the constant barrage of _other_ nicknames.

Virgil scowled and crossed his arms. The sight of Charming’s deep caramel chest didn’t knock him breathless like Logan did, but he was too gay _not_ to notice those perfectly huge pecs, and defined abs, and…

“Princey, what the hell,” Virgil sputtered. “You couldn’t at least put on a shirt?”

“Breakfast!” the ridiculous man proclaimed, turning off the stove. “To celebrate your last day of class! The Cool Cucumber took the dog out for a run, of course.” He ladled food onto plates and gestured at the table. “Quit ogling my beautiful physique and sit your mopey dopey ass down.”

“I’m not _ogling_!” Virgil protested, his face burning. “How many of those stupid nicknames have you got?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Marilyn Mon-rose?” Charming waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

Virgil rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The worst part was that, objectively, Charming wasn’t a terrible housemate. He folded up the sofa every morning and kept his stuff in a neat, out of the way pile. Without asking and without complaint, he took up most of the cooking and cleaning around the apartment, a gesture Virgil knew Logan appreciated. 

He sang incessantly, Disney songs and Broadway tunes and whatever the hell popular abomination was on the radio, and although it was annoying to have to listen to "Wait For It" for the fifteenth and a half time at 7am when Virgil wanted to sleep, he had to admit the guy had a hell of a voice. 

(Virgil was still loath to admit that Charming managed to get him hooked on Hamilton. The music was _catchy_ , okay?)

“Look,” Virgil said. “I have class in an hour and I really don’t have the energy for your trollshit right now.”

Charming’s lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout and he scoffed. “Ugh, so rude. Maybe I won’t share my eggs with you after all!”

Virgil was saved from having to comment by Logan and Nic arriving from their morning jog. Charming immediately turned his annoyingly noisy charm on the half-faery.

“Ah, my Benevolent Blizzardly Benefactor, how was your run?” he crooned as Logan breezed past with his usual cool demeanor. 

Virgil’s ears burned when Logan returned still shirtless, a towel draped over his shoulders. There was, in Virgil’s _very gay_ opinion, an unnecessary excess of naked male flesh in this room. But as he watched Logan move through his kitchen, answering Charming’s loud quips with his own dry sense of humor, Virgil also _ached._

He wanted Logan to turn that brilliant gaze on him and _see_ …someone. Someone fun, and confident, and _useful_.

Someone like Charming. 

Someone with the courage to catch the half-faery’s wrist and run hands up his sides, fae-smooth skin and lean muscle under his fingers… 

He didn’t realize he was coughing until he noticed both Logan and Charming had paused and were staring at him. 

Virgil flushed red and swallowed, silently waving away their concern. Logan turned back to his kettle but Charming’s dark gaze found Virgil’s, questioning. Naturally, Virgil panicked and fled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet to cough out the petals that had lodged in his throat. 

Afterwards, he fled out the door and off to campus before either could call him back.

Throughout the day, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

_Did Charming see the way I looked at Logan?_ he wondered during painting class, brush in hand, staring at a half-finished canvas without seeing it. It hadn’t been the first time he’d caught the lion-haired changeling’s dark gaze flickering between them. 

_He has to suspect something_ , he thought during his chemistry lab, crossing out yet another botched equation and starting over. 

_Why doesn’t he ever_ say _anything?_ he asked himself in the middle of ringing out a customer at the witchy shop, nearly counting out the wrong change in his distraction. Surely if Charming had sniffed out a weakness, he would have brought it up during one of their many arguments by now. 

They bickered and outright fought often enough to drive Logan up the wall, which Virgil hated but couldn’t seem to help. It was just that _everything_ about Charming’s personality got under his skin: he was bold where Virgil was cautious, boisterous where Virgil preferred quiet, extroverted where Virgil was anti-social. 

Even reclusive, no-nonsense Logan seemed to prefer Charming's company over Virgil's, lately. 

_And that’s exactly your problem, isn’t it?_ Virgil finally realized bitterly during his long, sweltering walk home. 

Opening the door, he dropped his bag and ripped off his hoodie as he stepped through, tossing it on the couch and following with his body. 

_It is too damned hot in this state to be December._

It was only then that he noticed Charming parked on the other side of the couch, staring at Virgil with a rather choked expression on his face. 

“What, Princey?” he grated, rolling his head to eye the other changeling. He wasn’t itching for a fight just then, but he really didn’t want to deal with any snarky remarks.

A barely discernible blush spread over Charming’s dark cheekbones. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, glancing away and waving a hand in Virgil’s general direction. “Just…never seen you out of that thing before.”

Virgil curled his legs underneath him and folded arms across his middle. His bare shoulders itched for the security of his hoodie, but it was too damned _hot_ and he wasn’t _about_ to let Princey see that his judgment bothered him. He knew he was a gross, sweaty mess; his black tank top clung to his lanky frame, his eyeshadow was mostly smeared off, and his hair was damp and mussed where he’d run his hands through it. 

Charming had gone back to scrolling on his phone, and Virgil pulled out his own to do the same, but he noticed the other still covertly watching. Nothing obvious; just the flash of a dark eyed gaze, raking from hair to ripped jeans. Lingering somewhere in the vicinity of his face and neck. 

_Is…is he checking me out? The fuck? I thought he was straight…_

Virgil’s eyes happened to flicker over Charming’s backpack, crumpled in the corner…and over a familiar pink, yellow, and blue flag pinned to the flap, which he hadn’t noticed until that moment. 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Charming… _wasn’t_ straight.

And since Virgil had no idea how to react to this new development, he did what he usually did when he was pushed out of his comfort zone. He made an excuse, grabbed his hoodie, and retreated to his room.

He emerged, reluctantly, when he smelled food a few hours later. 

Charming said nothing as Virgil went about his usual job of setting the table, nor did he say anything when Logan arrived home from a job in Cassedega and joined them for supper. The half-faery was always quiet at meals…it was something Virgil desperately missed from before…but _Charming’s_ quiet was disconcerting. Normally he’d launch into some bullshit story between bites or rile Virgil up until he inevitably snapped and they bickered and Logan had to tell them both off…

Virgil sighed and picked at his rice.

“Is it not any good?” Charming asked in a low voice.

“What?” Virgil looked up to find both Charming and Logan watching him. Which of course set all his ‘ _oh no you’re acting weird and they’ve noticed_ ’ nerves alight. 

“Well, I've never made stir fry before,” Charming went on, eyes back on his plate, “and we didn’t have any sesame oil so I had to substitute—”

“Charming, your cooking has been more than adequate,” Logan cut in with his usual brisk tone. “I am not sure where this sudden bout of insecurity is coming from, but I assure you it is unfounded.”

Charming shrugged around a mouthful.

_Is it me?_ Virgil wondered, stomach twisting. _Should I have stayed when I caught him staring, or would that have just made it weirder?_

“Yeah, the…the food’s fine,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. 

Silence reigned for a while. The stir fry _was_ good, actually, but the charged atmosphere made every bite feel like it took a million years to chew. Normally Virgil couldn’t wait for everyone to shut up, but now… 

_You just hate change_ , Virgil, the nasty voice in his head whispered, the one that sometimes sounded like Deceit. _You hate change and you hate people and you’re always going to be an anxious mess in social situations, so maybe just eat your damned food and stop thinking everything is about you._

Remy, for once, was a welcome distraction when he came out of his cabinet to steal a handful of rice and “accidentally” launch a bigger handful into Charming’s hair. The house brownie, for reasons of his own, had chosen Charming to be the butt of any and all "mysterious" mischief that happened in the house. Pranking annoyed Logan, yet Virgil found himself cheering on the little Fae’s crusade, as he suspected it was payback for Charming trying to kill Logan.

Charming, having accepted his fate but still making what Virgil had dubbed his Offended Princey Noises, sulkily picked food from his hair and off his shoulders. Virgil snickered into his water cup while Logan lectured the sassy fae _again_ about not harassing guests. 

Remy's pranking had almost gotten Charming killed the week he first moved in, when he’d stuffed Charming’s sheets with pine needles in the middle of the night. An itchy Charming had woken up shrieking, setting off Nic and sending Virgil tumbling out of his sheets. He'd run into the living room to find Charming nearly hyperventilating while Logan gruffly apologized. Virgil learned that Logan, having rushed from his bedroom thinking someone had broken into the apartment, had nearly run Charming though with an icicle.

On days when Charming was particularly annoying, Virgil wished he could have witnessed the look of sheer terror that must have been Charming's face that night. 

Logan had coldly given Remy an ultimatum: houseguests were to be left alone, or Logan would stop buying cream. The brownie did very much love his cream…and so he moved to smaller pranks like this, ones that could be passed off as mishaps. 

Virgil gave the brownie a discreet thumbs up, which he answered with a wink before escaping with his stolen food. 

When they’d all settled down again, Logan dropped a bombshell. 

“I am going into Arcadia tomorrow, and will be gone for a few days,” he said, calmly scraping up the last of his rice. 

Both of Charming’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I’m sorry, you’re going _where_?” Virgil repeated incredulously, gripping his fork so hard a few leaves sprouted from the top. He swore softly and set it down. 

“As risky as the Athens Theater Hedge gap is to our safety, we may as well use it to our advantage while it exists,” Logan went on. “I have a trusted cousin in the Okeechobee Winter Court who routinely attends the High Seelie Court’s midwinter revel.” 

“A _trusted_ Fae?” Charming muttered, and Virgil almost liked him for it. 

“A serf, with too much to lose to cause trouble,” Logan shot back, “and so, as trusted as a Court Fae can be.” 

Charming shrugged. 

“And Hunter knows a solitary that runs with the Hunt.” Logan leaned forward. “Between our two contacts, we may be able to ascertain where the Hunt will be headed next, and whether or not the faery we seek is still with them.” 

_Ah yes, Hunter. The useful changeling_ , Virgil remembered bitterly. 

“Didn’t you once tell me that other faeries would capture or kill you, if they figured out you’re a half blood?” he snarled. 

“Which is why I only ever enter Arcadia during the height of winter,” Logan answered, “when my power is naturally at its peak.” 

Virgil opened his mouth again, but Logan forestalled him with a pointed look. 

“I hope I can trust you two to behave in my absence?” he said in a firm voice. “No broken shelves, no vines sprouting out of my sofa?” 

Charming and Virgil exchanged guilty looks, though Virgil added a glare for good measure. 

They’d discovered that they both tended to lose control of their powers when they got angry. Charming’s anger manifested in grand declarations of ire, huffy tantrums, and small, annoying cases of bad luck: dead cell phones, stubbed toes, bitten tongues, and after one spectacular fight involving Disney princes, a cracked bookshelf. 

Virgil usually escaped behind a slammed door before he got too angry to string words together, but he’d also accidentally sprouted leaves and flowers from every piece of wooden furniture in the living room at least once. 

“We’ll be good,” Charming muttered. 

“Speak for yourself,” Virgil grumbled under his breath, folding his arms. 

“ _Anxiety_ ,” Logan said sharply, and that was enough to propel Virgil from the table. 

“Whatever, dude,” he threw over his shoulder as he marched to his room. “Do what you want, I don’t care!” 

He slammed his door. 

And immediately leaned against it, cradling his face in his hands. 

_Anxiety. Anxiety. Anxiety._

He _did_ care. That was the problem; Virgil cared too damn much and no matter what he tried, he always managed to mess everything up. He couldn’t get along with Charming, couldn’t stop leaving conversations in a huff, _couldn’t stop Logan from risking his life in Arcadia, couldn’t stop Deceit from finding him…_

He felt the flowers curling up his lungs before the coughing started, and was able to stagger out of his room and into the bathroom, slapping on the vent as he did. The fits were getting worse as time went on, causing him to wheeze and choke and cough up petals at least once a week now. 

Half an hour and a toilet full of bloody petals later, he retreated back to his sanctuary and locked the door. 

Not that anyone ever checked on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tamarisk:  
>  _the selfish tree_


	13. Arcadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan goes to Arcadia.

Logan went to Arcadia.

He took only a wooden, ornate suitcase…Fae crafted, Virgil guessed… and wore a high collared, shimmery white coat that whispered at his calves and crackled with frost when he moved. Before leaving, he took several hours to tame his hair into whirling cornrows, seemingly deliberately crafted to show off the white streaks. 

He looked like a Winter Court Fae.

He was _breathtaking._

He did not tell them how long he intended to be gone.

Exams finished for the semester, and Logan remained in Arcadia. Virgil spent most of his free time in his room, painting, or walking Nic alone in the evenings. 

The solstice came and went, and Logan remained in Arcadia. 

Virgil avoided Charming entirely, knowing if the two of them fought now, he’d probably turn the entire dining room table into a floral centerpiece. His nerves hummed tighter than a coiled spring.

Four days until Christmas, then three, and Logan remained in Arcadia.

Charming caught Virgil’s arm that night as he was taking Nic out for a walk, and suggested they go Christmas shopping.

“Are you out of your mind?” Virgil said with a sneer. “We don’t even _do_ Christmas. Logan celebrates Yule, which he’s missed, and I don’t give a shit.”

“Well both of you are missing out! Christmas is—”

Charming drew a deep breath.

“Princey if you start singing I swear I will turn your toothbrush into poison ivy,” Virgil cut in.

“ _The most wonderful time of the year_!” Charming belted, making Virgil groan.

“Besides, I need a new sword!” Charming added. “And you need to get your mopey-dopey ass out of this apartment.”

Virgil gestured pointedly at the dog.

“I mean _out_ , with like, other human beings.” Charming rolled his eyes. “You turned my last sword into a weed. It’s only fair that you help me replace it.” 

Virgil chewed his lip, hating that Charming did kind of have a point there. He _would_ need a weapon, especially if Logan came home with knowledge about Deceit’s whereabouts.

“And plus,” Charming waggled his eyebrows. “I know you want to get me a Christmas present.”

“You’re delusional, Princey,” Virgil grumbled. 

But that reminded him; he didn’t have a gift for Logan yet. He’d done a painting last year, so that was out. Logan wasn’t really into witchy shit, and without a driver's license, the only big store within walking distance was Walmart. _Lame._

Logan had left his car, though, and his blessing to use it if they needed to. And Princey _did_ have a license.

“You know what? Fine. We’ll go shopping, or whatever,” Virgil muttered. “If it will get you to stop bugging me about it.”

Charming clapped his hands.

Virgil gratefully escaped with Nic.

Logan remained in Arcadia.


	14. Petitgrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Charming go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Art in Me" by Jars of Clay

_images on the sidewalk_  
_speak of dream’s descent_

The next morning they took Logan’s car…Virgil still resented that Charming knew how to drive and he didn’t…and drove to a sprawling flea market about twenty minutes away. 

“The first of many! I have a list,” Charming proclaimed, making Virgil groan.

The market was awning-covered, hot, and crowded; a riot of color and noise and the musty smell of old things. Annoyingly cheerful Christmas music played from tinny speakers. 

Not, Virgil decided, unlike the more popular Renaissance Faires he’d done. 

Virgil’s Faire experience meant he wasn’t a complete idiot about weapons, and he did appreciate the first few sword shops they went in. Charming tried one sword after another, complaining loudly about their perceived flaws and absently flipping them over his hand (a habit that got them thrown out of two different shops, giving Virgil an excuse to laugh at Charming’s Offended Princey Noises). 

Virgil dragged them through an essential oil shop that had a bigger selection than they sold at his work, with a vague idea of finding Logan a new scent. After sniffing nearly every vial in the place, he finally went with petigrain, a spicy, velvety smelling oil with crisp greeny-yellow top notes and dark purple undertones. It smelled like sharp, witty comebacks and crackly black ice. 

And although Charming teased Virgil for having to walk out to clear his nose three different times, Virgil caught the other changeling surreptitiously doing the same. He pretended not to notice that Charming left the shop with a bag as well, which the lion-haired changeling quickly tucked away.

Charming got quieter and more contemplative as the day went on, no longer showing off, focused on actually finding a blade he liked. By the second market and the fifth weapon shop, the allure had faded and Virgil was bored. By the fourth market, he’d pulled out his phone and was ignoring his surroundings completely except to ask when they could go home. 

“This is the one, Anxiety, I feel it,” Charming said in what must have been the fourteenth shop they’d visited, testing the balance of a katana blade.

“It looks just like your old one,” Virgil pointed out, glancing up from his phone. “ _And_ the dozen other ones you’ve already looked at.”

“Oh, why did I even bring you along, Doctor Gloom?” Charming re-sheathed the sword with a flick of his wrist. “First you transform my beautiful sword into lilies and aconite—”

“Mmm, yes, the flowery equivalent of ‘fuck you’,” Virgil deadpanned.

“— and now you mock my loss! I am _done_ , I am done here, I am done with all of you…”

Virgil ignored Charming’s dramatics and went back to his phone.

“…yes, I’ll take this one, thank you.”

“Finally,” Virgil muttered as Charming paid for the sword, putting his phone away and looking over the sheathed blade. 

It… _did_ look an awful lot like Charming’s old one; it even had similar red wrapping around the hilt. Of course he’d not gotten a good look at Charming’s previous weapon before transforming it…he’d been a little preoccupied…but now his gaze shifted to Charming’s face and the way he refused to meet his eyes as they left. 

A shit-eating grin split Virgil’s face.

“Oh my god, it _wasn’t_ some heirloom, was it?” he crowed. “You liar. You probably found it the same way you found this one: hunting around shitty flea malls!”

“Don’t think I won’t take your whole face off,” Charming retorted, ears dark and mock-waving the sheathed sword.

Virgil scoffed. “Smile doesn’t kill changelings, dumbass.”

“No.” Charming’s smile slid away as quickly as it had appeared. “We’re supposed to kill faeries.”

Which of course reminded them both of what Logan was currently out there looking for. They returned to the car in silence and started back towards the apartment.

“Do you think Logan will find him?” Charming asked, hands drumming absently on the wheel.

“If anyone can, it’s him. He’s smart, and…” Virgil trailed off as Charming’s words sank in and turned to stare. “Hang on.”

“What?”

“You called him Logan!” Virgil said, his voice rising. “How the _fuck_ …?”

“Oh, that.” Charming shrugged. “He told me his actual name, like, a couple weeks ago.”

Virgil thunked his head against the seat. Charming might keep such a thing secret out of spite or plain forgetfulness, but Logan…he twisted the bag holding the petigrain oil he’d bought. 

Logan should have told him. It stung that he hadn’t. 

“So nobody thought to inform me we’re all on a real name basis now?” he snapped.

“Oh, don’t worry, he didn’t tell me yours,” Charming said. “I think he figured you’d want to do that yourself.”

“Fat chance, _Charming_ ,” Virgil snarled.

“Roman.”

The other changeling glanced at Virgil with the softest expression he’d yet seen. “My proper name is Roman Reis.”

_Roman_. It suited him, down to the red changeling rings around his pupils. 

Virgil frowned. “Just like that, eh?” 

The knowledge sat uneasily in his mind. Maybe he’d simply gotten used to not knowing, but now it felt like the power balance between them had completely shifted, and…he didn’t like it. He certainly hadn’t _earned_ it.

Roman shrugged again. “We were having serious talk time, so.”

“Does Logan know yours?” Virgil asked, looking out the window.

“Well I wasn’t about to keep it from him once he’d trusted me with his.”

“Wise choice, Princey.” Virgil chuckled.

Roman made a sour face. “Not giving up that nickname yet, eh, _Anxiety_?”

And _there_ was the unspoken demand Virgil had expected. 

A name for a name, that’s how it should go. But it was too much, too fast, and every cell in Virgil’s body screamed against it. Why should he bare his soul out of some misplaced sense of fairness? Hell, they weren’t even friends.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ and refusing to look at Roman. 

The other sighed. 

For a few miles, the drive was quiet.

“I hear you sometimes, you know,” Roman said softly. “In the bathroom. When you have one of your fits.”

Virgil’s fists clenched in his hoodie sleeves. He’d been careful, holding back the attacks until late at night, always turning on the vent, making sure every petal was flushed…but apparently he’d not been not careful enough.

In retrospect, he realized, it had only been a matter of time before Charming caught on. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Virgil said through gritted teeth.

“I know it’s none of my business—”

“It’s really not,” Virgil grated in a voice that meant “shut up”. 

“—but I can’t help but notice that whatever it is that happens to you, happens a lot after Logan gets testy, or criticizes you.”

_See, Roman pays attention because he’s stupidly infatuated_ , Virgil’s mind whispered. _Whereas Logan; smart, observant Logan, hasn’t noticed a damned thing…_

Pain stabbed at his lungs. Virgil clenched his jaw and savagely shut down that train of thought before it could trigger an attack and prove Roman right.

“It’s not his fault, if that’s what you’re implying.” He glared at Roman, and sighed. “It’s just my stupid changeling magic doing weird shit to my body. _My_ problem. Okay?”

“He triggers it, though, doesn’t he?” 

Roman was relentless, and Virgil felt a bolt of true hatred for the guy. 

“Quit psychoanalyzing my feelings, Princey!” he growled.

“I never said anything about feelings,” Roman shot back mildly, not looking at him.

_Shit_. Virgil’s face twisted. _Well, if he didn’t know about my crush before, he sure as hell knows now._

“Does he know?” Roman added.

“We are not fucking discussing this.” Virgil twisted in his seat and faced the window.

“That’s a no, then.”

Virgil muttered a few choice words in Faery. 

“Look, it just sounds like you’re _dying_ in there, sometimes. I’m not judging, I just…” Roman sighed, and gripped the wheel harder. “I thought maybe having someone else to talk about it with might help.”

Virgil scoffed nastily. “Why do you care so much?”

“Fine. Be an asshole.” Roman’s voice turned frosty, and Virgil almost regretted it.

Silence fell again. 

Virgil scowled at the too-green trees along the road. Even the _leaves_ refused to acknowledge wintertime in this stupid state.

“Okay, different topic,” Roman said, fingers drumming on the wheel again. “What if there was a way to find Deceit that Logan hasn’t tried yet?”

Virgil shot the other changeling a sideways look, his skin prickling. 

“You might hate it,” Roman warned. 

“I don’t do dramatic tension, _Roman_ , just spit it out.”

Roman exhaled carefully. 

“So, Deceit was your master, right? And he tracked you down once already?”

Virgil’s hand crept up to his chest, covering the pendant under his shirt. Logan had supercharged it before he left; it bit reassuringly cold into his skin. 

“Yeah. It’s why I’m here.”

“What if he could do it again…only we’d make sure to be ready for him?”

Virgil bit back his reflexive jolt of terror and forced himself to look at the idea objectively. It actually made a lot of sense; heck, he’d even accused Logan of bringing him here as bait.…and Logan hadn’t exactly denied it. Deceit had already chased Virgil across multiple state lines over several years; he was obviously willing to go to significant trouble to recapture him.

“You’re saying Logan should purposefully put me out there to lure Deceit to us,” Virgil said in a low voice.

He didn’t _like_ it, but the more he thought about it, the more he wondered why Logan had never outright suggested setting a trap as an option. Was it because Virgil had reacted so negatively to the idea, so many weeks ago? _Was that why Logan had gone to Arcadia instead?_

“Not…necessarily,” Roman said. “Logan’s super protective of you. Of us both, I guess, but you especially. He’d never allow you to put yourself in danger.”

Virgil fought back a stupid flush at that.

“He’s not my babysitter, you know.”

“Well, exactly.” Roman smiled weakly. “I guess what I’m saying is…maybe you and I could just do it on our own and he wouldn’t need to know until afterwards?”

The last part he said in a rush, hunching his shoulders as though preparing for an attack. 

Virgil seriously considered slapping him.

“You’re suggesting,” he said through gritted teeth, “that not only do we use me to lure out a dangerous faery who held me captive for sixteen years, but that we _don’t tell Logan about it_?”

“I mean…yeah?” Roman’s voice cracked.

“No. No, no, no, _hell_ no.” Virgil punctuated each word with a stab of his finger. “And also, no.”

“Alright, sunshine, calm down,” Roman said, holding up a hand. “It was just a thought.”

“A shitty one.” 

Virgil pulled out his headphones and faced the window for the rest of the drive.

He stayed up late with his acrylics and brushes that night, burying his feelings in brushstrokes and old nineties music...when he wasn't listening for the sound of a familiar key in a lock.

But Logan still remained in Arcadia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petitgrain:  
>  _used to banish negative energy and clear the mind_


	15. Basil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Roman decorate, and Virgil gets a message...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Coldest Winter" by Pentatonix

_on lonely nights i start to fade_  
_her love’s a thousand miles away_

“Anxiety, make the brownie stop eating all the candy canes!”

Roman, Virgil decided, had the most annoying whining voice on the planet. Some days, it made him want to dig his own ears out of his skull and replace them with noise-canceling cotton. 

“You insisted on buying a tree and decorations,” Virgil pointed out mercilessly. “You get to live with the consequences.”

The brownie in question flipped Roman off from the countertop and continued to munch his prize, spent wrappers piled around him. Roman, who was currently tucking lights into the branches of their table-top Christmas tree, pushed a hand through his freshly dyed hair and sighed. 

He’d given himself red and green highlights for the season, and somehow managed to make it look good.

“You also bought, like, fifteen boxes,” Virgil added, gesturing with the loop of lights he held. “Not even Remy can eat that many.”

“Try me, bitches,” the brownie sassed. “Bear is such a bore sometimes. I think I like this holiday.”

“Coming from you, that’s almost a compliment,” Roman muttered.

Remy answered by licking a long, slobbery stripe up his candy.

“Yeah, well, I just hope Logan's not gonna be mad that we’re decorating his apartment without him,” Virgil grumbled. 

“You worry too much.” Roman rolled his eyes.

“It’s a stupid holiday!”

“‘Stupid holiday,’” Roman mocked in a haughty voice. “You know, just because you don’t like Christmas doesn’t mean you have to spoil the mood for everyone else.” 

He looped the last strand over the tree and stepped back, picking up a box of ornaments. Virgil took a few candy canes from their box, scowling.

“I don’t dislike it,” he argued, hanging one on the tree. “I just don’t see the point of making it a big deal. None of us are religious and kitschy human capitalism is hardly worth celebrating.”

Roman spared him an eye roll as he snagged the plastic bag of office supplies they’d picked up earlier. He began deftly bending paper clips into hangers, his tongue sticking out as he worked.

“How did you afford all this crap, anyway?” Virgil asked, sweeping a hand across the piles of tinsel, ornaments, lights, and of course, the 4-foot tree currently occupying the coffee table. “You don’t even have a job.”

“My mentor Kate sends me money from time to time,” Roman answered. “Smile takes care of their own.”

“Moocher,” Virgil muttered.

Roman huffed. “Oh, spare me the snobbery, you Incredible Sulk. I _know_ you’re not affording those expensive-ass classes at that fancy-ass school on nine bucks an hour at some part time gig in downtown DeLand.”

Virgil gritted his teeth, but had to admit Roman had a point. “Touché.”

“Look, I just thought some lights and decorations would be nice for when Logan gets back,” Roman said. “Kate always has us decorate our murder’s building for the holidays. We deep-fry a turkey and make hot chocolate, and every year we go out to watch the Philly holiday parade and do a Secret Santa…”

He trailed off wistfully.

“You know, hearing you talk about a ‘murder’ celebrating Christmas is really fucking weird,” Virgil started in a teasing tone, but paused when Roman’s jaw clenched. _Too far._

“You miss them,” Virgil said instead.

Roman nodded. “Kate’s like a mom to me; Smile, like a family. I haven’t been away from them for this long since leaving…”

“Arcadia?” Virgil guessed in a low voice.

Roman found an outlet and plugged in the lights, his face lighting up brighter than the tree. Virgil let the subject drop. He didn’t want to think about Arcadia, especially considering…

“Logan should have been back by now,” he muttered aloud, rubbing his arms. “What if we go to all this effort for some stupid holiday and he doesn’t even come back for it?”

“Don’t be dramatic; that’s my job.” Roman grabbed a wad of tinsel and some tape. “Look, he’ll get back when he gets back. Worrying about it won’t—”

Virgil jumped badly when his phone chirped in his pocket. 

“Faery balls, _Anxiety_ , can you at least _try_ not to live up to your name?” Roman said, shaking his head.

“Shut up, it’s him!” Virgil snapped, opening the text. He frowned at the terse message. 

_3:42pm._  
_Logan: delayed. will be home as soon as possible._

“I mean, if he’s texting, at least we know he’s not dead.” Roman held up his hands when Virgil shot him another glare. “Gods, will you lighten up? What did he say?”

Virgil showed him, his mind already whirling. 

“Well, great!” Roman said. “We can—”

“No, Princey, it’s _not_ great.” Virgil tossed his phone on the couch and paced, waving the candy cane he still held. “One, he was supposed to be home days ago and he’s never been late before.”

“He never actually gave us a coming home date—” Roman started.

“Two!” Virgil interjected. “If he even _thinks_ he might be late, he always explains why. He’s never vague. He didn’t even use capitalization, and you know how he gets about proper grammar!” 

He stopped. An awful thought occurred to him. 

“ _Shit_ , what if someone got hold of his phone and that wasn’t even him? What if he’s been captured, or that stupid cousin turned on him, or he’s stuck in Arcadia and can’t get home, or —!”

“Anxiety, _stop_ ,” Roman began, holding out a hand like he meant to touch Virgil’s shoulder. “Breathe. The world isn’t ending—”

Virgil smacked the hand away. 

“Don’t patronize me, this isn’t normal, you don’t know him like I do!” he snarled. 

“Do you hear yourself?” Roman threw up his arms. “Logan is _fine_ ; you are working yourself up over nothing. Why do you have to be so para—!” 

The candy cane in Virgil’s white knuckled grip crackled and burst into flower, tiny purple blossoms and deep, fragrant leaves. 

“—-vigilant,” Roman corrected hastily, “paranavigilant, did you like that, I just made that word up just now, I’m basically Shakespeare!”

Virgil shot him a venomous look and tossed the crumpled basil plant away.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice, mentally daring the other changeling to stop him.

Roman did nothing.

Virgil stomped down the stairs, anger still thrumming through his system. _Paranoid_. He growled and kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. Virgil was well aware that his anxiety made him…hyper-vigilant, and a worrier, and an over-thinker, and yeah, maybe a little _paranoid_. He did not appreciate the reminder, especially from the one person who knew exactly how to rile him up. 

His fury carried him halfway to downtown DeLand before he started to worry that maybe he’d overreacted. It _was_ kind of paranoid to freak out over a lack of capitalization in a text. He’d reached Painter’s Pond before accepting that he had definitely overreacted, he probably ought to go back, and _maybe_ he owed Roman an apology. 

Maybe.

(That last one was debatable). 

The afternoon air was relatively cool, a relief from the unrelenting Florida heat, and the streets were relatively empty…Christmas Eve and all. The street lamps had been decorated with grinning nutcrackers and gaudy wreaths, a discordant backdrop to DeLand’s solemn, hourly church bell as it doled across town.

Virgil slumped against the park’s low wall, folding his arms across his legs and tipping his head back. For the moment, he could breathe…until it occurred to him that Logan could have gotten home in the time it had taken Virgil to het here, and Roman would tell the half-faery he’d stormed out over nothing. The mere thought set his heart to beating overtime and shortened his breath, making him clench his fists.

He wished he just react to things like a normal person. 

Something small alighted on his shoulder, making him jump. 

“ _Twitchy, twitchy, changeling_ ,” Wrassey said in Faery, walking slowly down his arm and tsking. 

Virgil had come here so often with Logan that he could easily tell the pixie sisters apart; Wrassey was bolder than Wren, a little shorter, and she liked to curl her inky black hair into minute corkscrews. They bounced as she skipped the last few steps to his wrist.

“Thanks for the reminder,” he mumbled, clutching his knees closer.

The pixie balanced on his knobby wrist bone and cocked her head.

“ _What’s got your insides all brambly, then_?” she asked. “ _And where is Bear?_ ”

“He’s…uh, on a trip.” Virgil figured telling any Fae, even a friend, where Logan was would be a bad idea. “He was supposed to be back by now, but he isn’t, and he finally texted me but it was so vague I got worried, and Ro… _Charming’s_ been _on my case_ all day about how I never relax and I stress everyone else out and I’m just…”

Virgil let out the rest of his breath in a shaky sigh, and ducked his head into his outstretched arms. “Tired. Of being me, I guess.”

A pair of pixie feet walked across his head.

“Sorry,” he added, his voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

The footfalls disappeared and his hair was sharply tugged, forcing him to raise his head. The pixie hovered inches from his nose, tiny hands on her hips, looking nonplussed.

“ _Self-pity is not a tasty emotion_ ,” she groused with a wrinkled nose.

Virgil couldn’t help it; he huffed a laugh. “Well, it’s a good thing you solitaries don’t actually need human emotions to live, because that’s all you’re gonna get out of me today.”

Wrassey chimed her wings in irritation. “ _We do not need you. And yet I think you think us inferior. Like the Courts do._ ”

“What, no!” Virgil rubbed his face. The last thing he needed was be drawn into some arcane discussion about faery politics, and possibly insult Wrassey due to his own ignorance. 

“You aren’t inferior, you just aren’t as…scary.”

“ _Fear! Mmm._ ” Wrassey settled on his wrist again and licked her tiny red lips. “ _Fear is quite delicious, you know. Coppery and sweet._ ”

She patted his hand as if that statement was meant to be comforting. 

_Faeries._

Virgil shuddered at the unwelcome reminder that pixies, even friendly ones, were driven by the same alien desires that fueled Unseelie monsters like Deceit. 

“ _The Bear is a force unto himself_ ,” Wrassey added, more gently. “ _His heart may be human, but his soul is fae, and Fae do not lie. If he has promised to return to you, then he will._ ”

Virgil exhaled and cursed his treacherous heart for aching at the thought. 

It was just…he _missed_ Logan, and not merely his calm presence and eyes and scent and the way his polo sleeves emphasized his lean, muscled arms (although Virgil did miss all those things, too). Mostly he ached for what they’d had before Roman showed up and ruined everything. He missed stargazing and walking Nicodemus together and sometimes just quietly existing in the same space, each doing his own thing.

He missed Logan being just…his. 

_Ha!_ the cynical voice in his head whispered. _Deceit would be proud of you for_ that _lie._

“He wouldn’t come back for me,” Virgil said bitterly. “Or maybe he would out of some misplaced loyalty, or if I was actually useful like Hunter or even R- _Charming_ , but…” He sighed, chest tight on the exhale. “Never just for me. I’m not stupid enough to think I’m _that_ important to him.” 

Bramble crackled in his lungs, wringing out a cough and making him momentarily clutch his chest. Wrassey sighed, a tiny melodic huff, and took to wing again. 

“ _Well, I cannot stop you if you insist on tormenting yourself_ ,” she said primly. She came close to pat his nose, making him go crosseyed trying to watch her. “ _But know this truth. The Bear is fonder of you than you think, even if the color of it is not what you desire._ ” 

Virgil’s mouth twisted. “Thanks. I think.” 

“ _I will say also this. You are full to the brim._ ” She touched his nose again, her tiny face scrunched with concern. “ _Much more and it will bleed, more than this form can bear._ ” 

“ _Do not let it._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basil:  
>  _hatred and love_
> 
> *Author's Note*
> 
> Hey all,
> 
> If you've made it this far, thanks so much for reading! It was around this point in the writing where I said to myself, "How are we nearly 40k words into this thing and still haven't met one of the main characters yet??" Patton really is in this story, I promise! We've just got some ground to cover before we get to meet him...the angst train that is the rest of Mahogany and Teakwood is about to leave the station, so consider this your warning 😉
> 
> As always feel free to leave comments...I try to answer as many as I can, and I do read and appreciate them all. 
> 
> See you Wednesday...


	16. Buttercup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone comes home. Virgil makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Heavy" by Linkin Park

_you say that i’m paranoid_  
_but i’m pretty sure the world is out to get me_

A car honked from the road, startling Virgil and prompting Wrassey to vanish into the brush. 

He sighed in annoyance when he saw Logan’s Honda parked on the curb, assuming it was Roman coming to get him. _Figures_ , he thought, pushing himself off the wall and stalking over. _He couldn’t leave me alone for half an hour._

But he slowed as he approached the car, breath leaving his body in a whoosh. From the driver’s seat, a set of heart-stoppingly familiar storm gray eyes glared daggers from behind half-moon glasses. 

Logan’s impassive gaze followed Virgil as he opened the passenger door and slid inside. 

_He’s...here._

_He’s not dead, not captured, not bloody or beat up. All that worrying, and he just shows up like he never fucking left._

“Um. You’re back,” Virgil stammered, the sheer force of Logan’s physical mahogany-and-teakwood presence turning his brain to mush like it always did. 

Logan said nothing.

They pulled onto the road, heading back toward the apartment. The half-faery’s knuckles were pale against the brown leather steering wheel. Virgil swallowed, the brief burst of joy he’d felt freezing into uncertainty as he realized the half-faery was angry. 

_Shit, what did I do now?_

“What were you doing out here?” Logan demanded at last in a sharp, icy voice.

“Uh…walking?” Virgil pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Roman was being an ass and —”

“Roman?” Logan’s gaze flickered with surprise for a moment. “He told you his name? Or he was careless?”

“He…he told me.” 

_Gods, Logan hasn’t looked at me like this since the cell phone fight._

“Anyway, we were decorating and then you texted and he started being a little _bitch_ and mocking—”

“You know, _Anxiety_ ,” Logan said coldly, and hearing that name, spat out like the insult it was from Logan’s mouth, shut Virgil right up. “I had hoped that perhaps you could be mature enough to put this pointless antagonism behind you. Clearly I was mistaken.”

Virgil swallowed again. “What the fuck, L?” 

Tears stung his eyes and he furiously blinked them away. He was well-acquainted with Logan’s ability to wound with words alone, but Logan had never turned it on him like that before.

It _hurt_ , all the more for coming out of nowhere.

Regret flickered over Logan’s face. 

“You are right. Using your alias in such a way was unnecessarily cruel. I am upset with you, but that is no excuse.”

“You gonna tell me _why_ you’re upset,” Virgil snarked, anger creeping into his voice, “or am I supposed to spontaneously develop telepathy?”

They arrived at the apartment, but Logan made no move to get out of the car.

“The Savannah Grimms observed the Wild Hunt passing through Wright Square not two days ago,” he allowed, gripping the wheel again. “And they claim to have seen a shapeshifter matching your Deceit’s description near the forefront.” 

Virgil scrambled for a neutral expression, even as his heart kicked into overdrive. “The Hunt is in _Savannah_?”

“It _was_ in Savannah.” Logan shot Virgil a look. “We knew they were heading south, but now we also know that they are less than three hundred miles from here, and as of today, they have shown no inclination to change direction. I am late in coming home because we were waiting for Hunter’s lead to confirm this.”

Virgil started to speak, but Logan cut him off.

“And then when I _do_ return, I find you missing!” he snapped. “Without telling anyone where you were going or when you would come back, and with your pendant depleted.”

“The hell is the point of this thing, then?” Virgil snapped, yanking out the bear pendant from under his shirt and waving it. “If I have to rearrange my whole life whenever you go on one of your long ass trips?”

“It did not matter before. Now that the Hunt is close, it does.”

“You could have led with that! It’s not like I knew,” Virgil thunked his head against the seat. “You could have put _that_ in your vague-as-hell text from earlier.”

“You know what I have been doing, Virgil.” Logan slapped the steering wheel for emphasis. “I should not have to tell you that it is unwise to wander off by yourself. If Deceit shows up unexpectedly, neither I nor Roman can protect you if we do not know where you are.” 

Virgil bristled, reminded of the conversation he’d had with Roman yesterday. 

“I. Don’t. Want. A. Babysitter,” he spat.

Logan sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I wish you would hear how childish you sound right now. You should have at least taken Roman with you.”

“ _He_ was the one I needed a fucking break from!”

“Because you cannot seem to let go of this ridiculous animosity between you two,” Logan retorted. “Yes, he can be loud and irritating; even I will admit that. But nine times out of ten you are the one who picks the fights.”

“Nobody else calls him out on his shit!” Virgil knew he was being difficult, and unfair, but Logan had only been home for half an hour and already Virgil was being stuffed back into a metaphorical tower like the helpless maiden Logan clearly saw him as. 

And he _did not like it._

“So, what, you start stirring up trouble in Arcadia and suddenly I’m supposed to magically know I’m not to leave the house?” he added belligerently. “If you were so worried, why didn’t you just call? Isn’t that why you got me that fancy phone?” 

“I did call.” Logan shot him a frosty glare, the light on his glasses momentarily obscuring his eyes. “Several times.”

Virgil frowned, patted his pockets, and swore. 

He’d thrown his phone on the couch before storming off. 

“I merely expect you to exercise better judgement,” Logan said in a quieter voice. “I expect you to stop stirring up petty drama and then running away to sulk.” 

He reached over and to Virgil’s shock, he laid a gentle hand on his knee. 

“I have a duty of care towards you, Virgil. You must understand, I have no desire to control your life. I merely want you safe.”

Logan’s hand was a cool, pleasant weight on his leg, but the words he’d used…’duty of care’…were too reminiscent of his conversation with Wrassey in the park.

 _Logan doesn’t love you…he doesn’t even really_ like _you…he just feels responsible…_

“Fine,” he mumbled, staring at his cupped hands in his lap. “M’sorry.”

Logan acknowledged the apology with a hum, and unbuckled his seatbelt.

The stark relief on Roman’s face when they both walked through the door only worsened Virgil’s mood. He forestalled any words with a hand thrust into Roman’s face, and a slammed bedroom door. 

He _knew_ it was immature.

But he didn’t want to talk about Deceit and Savannah and The Plan and he sure as hell couldn’t handle Roman’s inevitable teasing. He’d only just settled down on his bed with an aggressively non-Christmas playlist and headphones when someone knocked.

“Really not in the mood!” he called. 

“Too bad, I’m coming in,” came Roman’s voice, and the door swung open to reveal the other changeling. 

Virgil groaned and flipped over on the bed, facing the far wall, waiting for the inevitable string of words. _Serves me right for not locking the door._

Several tense minutes of silence ticked by. 

Virgil rolled over to find Roman studying his paintings, chewing on a thumbnail. It occurred to him that Roman had never seen his art before, having, of course, never been in his room. Betrayal made him glower. His art was like his name: personal, intimate, not to be given away to just anyone. Roman had no _right_. 

Virgil fought the urge to jump up and turn all his canvases around. 

“You paint?” Roman asked when he noticed Virgil’s hot gaze.

“No, _Remy_ does, obviously,” Virgil snarked. 

“They’re good.” Roman’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “Given your wardrobe, I wasn’t sure you knew colors other than black and purple existed.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. 

“Are you here to gloat over the fact that Logan is fine and I really am _paranoid_?”

Roman sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s already chewed me out about that, okay?”

Virgil laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, join the fucking club.”

“I just think we should talk.” Roman’s mouth twisted.

“Great,” Virgil snarked, accompanied by a mocking thumbs-up. “Should I ask Logan to make us some tea and put on some music?”

“Why do you hate me?”

Roman asked the question in such a quiet, carefully neutral voice that it slammed the brakes on Virgil’s raging sarcasm. Suddenly this had become, as Roman put it yesterday, ‘serious talk time’.

“I don’t…” Virgil lay back against his pillow with a rough sigh. “I don’t hate you. You just…”

_Messed everything up._

_Ruined what little chance I had with Logan._

_Did he, though?_ the nasty voice in Virgil’s head countered. _Or did you do that all on your own with your sarcasm, your attitude, your past? You better hope he kills your master before he figures out what you are, and throws you out like he should._

“We’re just too fucking different to get along, that’s all,” Virgil finished lamely.

_Roman would turn on you, too, if he knew._

“I’d like to,” Roman said.

_Fetch-maker._

“Like to what?” Virgil wanted to be done with this conversation. He fiddled with his earbuds; maybe if he started his music, Roman would get the hint and go away.

“Get along.” 

Roman crossed the room and threw himself onto the other side of Virgil’s bed, ignoring his squawk of indignation. The two stared at each other until Roman finally looked away.

“Look, you’re smart, in a perverse, overly-suspicious kind of way—”

“Ex _cuse_ you—”

“And you have this dark, cynical side—”

“Which you _hate_ ,” Virgil shot him an incredulous look. “We had a whole ass fight about Disney because of that, after you made me watch all those films on your tablet!”

“Disney movies are the embodiment of goodness and purity, something you would know nothing about.” Roman folded his arms. “Forgive my efforts to lift you out of your gloomy nature!”

“Are we seriously doing this again?” Virgil threw up his hands. “All I was trying to do was make you alert to _all_ of the messages in those films, whether they were intentional or not—”

“Bambi!”

“…what?”

“What ‘hidden messages’ could you possibly find in Bambi?” Roman narrowed his eyes. 

“Okay, so we're doing this. Fine.” Virgil shrugged. “How about ‘man is dangerous’.”

“Pocahontas.”

“ _White_ man is dangerous.”

“Sleeping Beauty!” Roman cried.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Well now we’re back to the lack of consent with sleeping women.” 

“It was to lift a curse!” Roman argued. “The Little Mermaid.”

“Don’t just sign a contract without having your mer-lawyer look over the all the fine print and stipulations.” Virgil shook his head. “That one’s just common sense for anyone who’s ever lived with faeries.”

“Or learn to write. Or use sign language. There’s more than one way to tell the prince you’re the girl that saved him,” Roman muttered, then whipped his head toward Virgil and held up a finger. “No…shut up!”

“Oh, now wait, did I just detect a hint of sarcasm towards a Disney movie?” Virgil crowed, grinning. 

“I said shut up!” Roman chewed his lip. “Okay, uh…how about Mulan?”

“There’s never a wrong time to dress in drag.” Virgil smirked.

Roman’s mouth twitched, which he hid in a glower. 

“Lion King.”

“There’s never a wrong time to dress in drag…” Virgil looked suggestively at Roman, whose eyes widened.

“And do the hula, ohhhhh!” they both said in unison, pointing at each other. Roman snorted, then pouted and folded his arms.

“Curse you for making me laugh,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, well, for the record, I never said you were wrong,” Virgil muttered, mirroring his stance. 

“Well,” Roman cleared his throat, “Then, I guess I can concede that your cynicism does…occasionally…make some good points.” He sighed, musing his festive hair and making it wilder than ever. “Maybe a spoonful of sugar really does make the medicine go down.”

Virgil side-eyed him. “Why do you only ever quote Mary Poppins?”

“BECAUSE JULIE ANDREWS IS A BEAUTIFUL GODDESS AND BECAUSE I CAN, OKAY?”

Roman’s face was flushed by the end of his little tirade and Virgil had skittered to the opposite side of his own bed. 

“Geez, dude,” Virgil said, holding up his hands.

Roman sighed.

“You know, if we could get along for, like, more than ten seconds at a time, we’d probably make a pretty good team,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t actually like fighting with you all the time.”

Virgil snorted. “Could have fooled me.”

“It’s not my fault you take everything so seriously!” Roman retorted. “If you’d just learn to lighten up a little —”

“Oooh, sure, make it my fault,” Virgil interrupted. “While you talk yourself up constantly, always bragging about Smile and your skills and how you’re going to take down an Unseelie Court Fae all on your own once Logan finds him —”

“It’s not bragging if it’s true,” Roman said with exactly the sort of nonchalance Virgil _hated_. 

“So when your bragging doesn’t work on me, or on Logan,” Virgil went on nastily, “you get insecure and you lash out.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “I am _not_ insecure.”

Virgil scoffed.

“I’m also not the one who brought up what _Logan_ thinks.” Roman narrowed his eyes at Virgil’s unconscious flinch. “Oh, did that hit a little close to home, _Anxiety_? Who’s the real insecure one here, eh?” he sneered.

“Get the hell off my bed!” Virgil snapped, shoving the other changeling. Roman let himself be pushed, but instead of leaving, he walked around and planted himself in Virgil’s desk chair instead. 

Virgil growled softly.

“I swear to Arcadia, Roman, if you don’t —” he started.

“You really want to get rid of me? Like, for good?” Roman interrupted, his lip curling. He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Help me lure out your stupid faery so I can kill him.”

Virgil frowned and folded his arms.

“Come on,” Roman said. “We all get what we want, and apparently the bastard’s already headed this way anyway, right? Anything we did would just be speeding up the inevitable.” He spread his hands, his mouth twisting. “Help me take him down, and you get Logan all to yourself again. You can go back to your little walks and astronomy trips and book club meetings or whatever nerdy shit you introverts do.”

The last was spat out with such bitterness that Virgil actually felt a pang of guilt. 

“What do _you_ get out of this suicide pact?” he asked sourly.

“I get my kill, duh.” Roman mimed stabbing someone with a sword, prompting Virgil to grab his arm.

“Roman…you don’t know Deceit like I do. He’s a dangerous Unseelie lord and he will do anything to get his way. Logan has faith in your sword skills _because_ he’s planning to be there to mitigate the worst of Deceit’s magic. Without him, we… _you_ …wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Logan underestimates me,” Roman said flatly. “I don’t need to fight your faery one-on-one in some drawn out duel. I just need a single lucky shot and thankfully,” his mouth curled into a grin, “luck is my specialty.”

Virgil opened his mouth, but Roman cut him off.

“Don’t you want to prove yourself to him?” he added, frowning. “Yeah, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way he treats you like a porcelain doll, completely ignoring the fact that he’d be _dead_ if not for you.” 

Virgil shrugged uncomfortably. 

“Dead by _your_ hand,” he grumbled, but Roman made a damned good point. Virgil _had_ saved Logan’s life, and the half-faery had never even thanked him for it.

“Not the point.” Roman waved a hand. “The point is, you’ve let Logan and everyone else convince you that you and your powers are worthless.”

“They are,” Virgil hugged himself. Better to be useless than an abomination.

“Are they?” Roman leaned forward and rested his arms on the bed. “I am a trained assassin—”

“You’re really gonna brag about that right now?” Virgil said incredulously.

“And you, _you_ , stopped me! You saved Logan’s life _with your powers_ , Anxiety.” The other changeling came around the bed to prod Virgil’s chest. “Those same powers you think are useless. You owe yourself the chance to show him he’s wrong!”

“Faery balls, Princey, he’s gonna hear you if you don’t lower your voice,” Virgil pointed out, glancing at the closed door. 

“Let him.” Roman grinned. “You don’t want to do this without him anyway. Right?”

Virgil bit his lip.

Roman’s voice dropped. 

“Anxiety? Do not throw away your shot.”

“Did you just seriously quote Hamilton at me?” Virgil snarked.

But the image burned into his mind despite himself: the two of them, going back to Logan in triumph after Deceit was dead. How Logan would act all stern and chew them out, but he’d do it wearing that proud little smile Virgil craved so much. Roman could go back to his murder cult and Virgil…Virgil would be free.

And maybe Logan would finally see him, not as a nuisance to protect, but as an actual friend. 

An equal.

He hated how _tempting_ that image was. 

Virgil rubbed hands over his face, but Roman had him and they both knew it. 

“All right, Prince Charming,” he said at last. “You got a plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buttercup:  
>  _childishness_


	17. Thistle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas, and the plan begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Islander" by Falling Up

_i couldn’t catch my breath_  
_or calculate my death_

Christmas Day came and went. 

Roman attempted to deep-fry a turkey using his murder’s recipe…an experiment which ended with flames in the kitchen, shouting, swearing, and a fire extinguisher. He made up for the disaster by whipping up a pot of homemade hot chocolate and declaring, rather nonsensically, “there’s no winning at Christmas”. 

Logan paused in wiping down the counters.

“No one says that.”

“Yeah, that’s not a saying,” Virgil added, scrubbing the scorched turkey pot.

Roman narrowed his eyes at both of them. 

“Pretty sure I’ve heard it somewhere.”

Logan, ever the practical one, ordered pizza once the kitchen was habitable again. 

Upon learning that neither Logan nor Virgil had ever seen _A Christmas Story_ , Roman made them both sit down with Logan’s laptop and suffer through it, insisting that it was ‘a classic’. 

Virgil, to his surprise, actually enjoyed the ridiculous storyline; he alternated between scathing commentary and laughing so hard he nearly spilled hot chocolate on himself. Roman mouthed along with his favorite lines. Logan, in an uncharacteristic show of casualness, balanced a jar of Crofters on his leg and ate it by the spoonful as he watched, pointing out inconsistencies between licks.

“There is no possible way actual human families act so nonsensically,” the half-faery mumbled at least once per scene, prompting Roman to shush him. 

(Virgil was _definitely_ watching the movie and _not_ Logan’s tongue on that spoon.)

Then Roman picked a fight with Logan over whether or not the father had been right to initially forbid the BB gun, as the kid did, in fact, do precisely what everyone had warned him about. (Roman took the kid’s side; Logan, the father’s.) Normally Virgil took a perverse pleasure in watching bickering matches he wasn’t part of, but tonight…tonight it only got on his nerves.

It felt like Roman was just trying to show off.

He’d actually been a tiny bit grateful for Roman’s boisterous, distracting presence up until that point. The Car Fight still hung heavy and tense between Logan and himself, a marked contrast to the last Christmas they’d spent together. Any time Roman left the room, the two would awkwardly and silently avoid each other’s eyes until the other came back. 

They did presents after the movie, accompanied by another round of hot chocolate. Logan complimented Virgil’s petigrain oil from the flea market, but Virgil also noticed how quickly it was abandoned on a shelf, and he tried very hard not to feel hurt. After all, Logan _had_ actually gotten him a proper gift this year…

“A gift card, actually,” Logan clarified, passing it over. “For some audio books you could listen to, in order to calm yourself down during moments of…excessive alarm.”

“Oh, that’s…” Virgil murmured. “That’s all right, I guess.”

It was thoughtful, and practical, and thus very Logan…but it felt a little impersonal.

Then again, they _were_ still fighting, technically.

Roman, it turned out, had bought Virgil an oil warmer for his room, making him feel awful that all he’d prepared in return was a card. Granted, it was hand folded and hand-painted on nice card stock, and Roman held it to his heart and proclaimed that he loved it, but still.

Roman’s gift to Logan was an elaborate piece of Sherlock Holmes fan fiction he’d apparently written himself, a gesture that equal parts confused and flattered the half-faery (“I mean the cover is ridiculous but I am intrigued, Roman.”).

And Logan, it turned out, had at some point acquired a ukulele, of all things, which he presented to a wide-eyed Roman.

“I don’t play, personally, and I thought perhaps you might enjoy the challenge of learning an instrument to accompany your singing,” Logan explained.

“Would I,” Roman murmured as he cradled the instrument. “Wow, I…I didn’t think you’d paid any attention.”

“You sing, like, all the time, dude,” Virgil grumbled, huddled in a corner of the couch.

“I own a gramophone instead of a television, Roman; I have a certain appreciation for good music.” Logan shrugged. “And you have talent.”

Virgil’s stomach twisted and he sunk deeper into the cushions.

He considered nicking the bottle of summer rum and drinking until all the happy memories from last Christmas dissolved in a haze of numbness. It wouldn’t take much. 

But it wouldn’t be the same without the half-faery’s company. 

And with someone like Roman around, why would Logan want to hang out with an anxious, pitiful mess like Virgil anyway? The gift card got tossed onto his messy desk to join the never-used inhaler, and Virgil spent the remainder of the night painting until he could breathe again.

#

The next morning, Roman asked Virgil to come with him on a “shopping trip” to buy music books, but proceeded to wink and nudge him so obviously that Virgil thanked all the gods of Arcadia that Logan wasn’t in the room with them.

They hadn’t discussed The Secret Plan at all since Christmas Eve, and Virgil had _definitely_ started to have second thoughts.

“Really… _today_?” he said softly.

Roman flashed a grin and unzipped his backpack just enough to reveal the hilt of his sheathed sword inside. Virgil swallowed hard.

“The sooner the better,” Roman pointed out, shrugging the bag onto his back. “Or did you have something better to do today?”

“Sleeping until the sun goes away is starting to sound awesome.” Virgil folded his arms. Roman knew perfectly well that Virgil’s schedule was basically open until classes and work started up again.

Roman raised his voice. “Logan, can we borrow the car?”

“If you pick up more cream for Remy while you are out,” Logan’s muffled voice called from behind his bedroom door.

“I’ll get some vanilla as well, my tea cozy compadre,” Roman crooned, knocking softly on the cabinet. Remy answered by opening his door just enough to flip him off, earning a chuckle from Virgil.

“You know he hates you because you tried to kill Logan, right?” Virgil pointed out as they clomped down the outside stairs. “Buttering him up won’t change that.”

Roman scoffed. “He’ll come around. I am, after all,” and he waggled his eyebrows at Virgil, “irresistible.”

“Spare me, Sir Sing-a-Lot,” Virgil said with an eye roll.

“Ha! I like that nickname, and I’m going to use it.”

They drove to the Athens Theater in silence, Virgil’s unease ratcheting higher the closer they got. 

“Do you even have a plan?” he demanded as the theater came into view.

“Basically you’re just going to loiter around the Hedge gap,” Roman explained as they parked. “If your faery is anywhere near, surely he’ll sense your ‘unprotected’ presence and come looking. Speaking of which, you’ll need to take that off.”

He pointed to the lump underneath Virgil’s shirt. Virgil gripped the little bear-shaped pendant, relishing the bite.

“I’ll be waiting with my sword,” Roman went on. “The moment that shapeshifter emerges from the Hedge, I’ll strike. With any luck,” and Roman winked, “he’ll be dead before he knows what hit him.”

“What if he brings the whole damned Hunt with him?” Virgil demanded. “Did you ever consider we might be putting all of DeLand in danger by doing this?”

“You really think any one faery has the sway to divert _the entire Wild Hunt_ to a tiny human town, for one changeling?” Roman raised an eyebrow. “In broad daylight?” 

“Well, what if he senses you before you can do your ‘one strike and he’s dead’? What if you miss?” Virgil chewed his lip. “What if you do have to fight him?”

“He won’t, and I won’t.”

Virgil tipped his head back and groaned. “So your whole plan is basically ‘we get lucky’?”

“Luck is quite literally my superpower, Anxiety.” Roman grinned, dimple and all. “Now can you cool your Anxiet-ing long enough to leave that pendant in the glove box and follow me?”

Virgil begrudgingly slipped it off, but didn’t even make it out of the car before another anxious question came bubbling out.

“How will we even get in there?” He gestured at the empty street, and at the obviously-closed theater. “I can’t pick locks and we can’t just bash the door down, and what if the theater has an alarm—?”

“We follow the advice of wise, but misguided Aaron Burr,” Roman cut in, holding up a finger.

The theater’s side door slammed open and someone stalked out, gesturing and talking loudly on a cell phone. They pulled out keys and turned around, clearly to lock up behind themselves, but whoever they were talking to must have said something particularly egregious. The stranger forsook the door in favor of pacing and swearing into the phone, using their keys for emphasis.

“Wait for it,” Roman murmured. 

The stranger finally hung up and marched away, locking up forgotten.

“And that’s our cue.” Roman locked the car and started toward the building, Virgil trailing incredulously behind. 

He’d honestly never given Roman’s changeling abilities much thought, but…the dude possessed an insidious, _incredible_ power. With just a bit of luck, a person could break into any place they wanted, take whatever they wanted, manipulate their way into fame, power, riches. People would _kill_ for the ability to twist luck in their favor.

Roman could literally have the world at his feet, and he chose to sleep on park benches and hunt faeries instead. To keep humanity safe.

Because he could.

As they slipped through the unlocked door into the theater, Virgil was beginning to wonder if he had misjudged Roman Reis.

“How long does it take for your ‘luck’ to start working?” Virgil asked in a low voice as they navigated the maze of backstage hallways. Logan had never mentioned the precise location of the Hedge gap, meaning they had to look for it. 

“Like, is it immediate or does you have to, I dunno, charge it up before something happens?”

“I can do either,” Roman answered. He’d taken his sword from his bag and walked with one hand on the hilt, ready to draw. “But it works better if I let it build beforehand. If I know I’m going to be in a situation where I’ll need it, I’ll start concentrating a few hours ahead of time.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up. “So that vague tingly _something_ I’ve been feeling…”

“That’s me, yeah.” Roman shrugged. “The more clearly I can visualize what I need to happen, the more likely I am to get the result I want.”

Virgil frowned. “But what if you don’t know what needs to happen?” 

Roman shot a grin over his shoulder. “That’s the beauty of luck. I don’t have to know the details. Like when I broke into your apartment, I didn’t know about Logan’s dog, or you, or anything really. I just concentrate on what I need to do, and the magic sorts out obstacles as they come.”

Virgil wondered what it would be like to move through life like Roman did; careless and cocky, having no clue how things would work out but absolutely confident in the knowledge that they just... _would_. 

Such a tenuous magic would drive Virgil’s overthinking brain crazy. 

But then again, if Virgil had a power like Roman’s, Deceit wouldn’t be looking for him and they wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

Roman kept getting distracted by the theater itself; prancing around on the dark, empty stage, playing with props, examining posters of past plays. Virgil followed cautiously behind, terrified they were going to be caught…either by faeries, or an angry Logan, or the human police…but their luck held and the theater remained empty. 

They stumbled upon it almost by accident…or again, luck. 

Roman had attempted to pull Virgil into some sort of ballroom dance in one of the hallways. Virgil retaliated by shoving him into a rack of costumes, which had rolled away, revealing a closed wooden door. Virgil froze where he stood and Roman sobered up immediately. 

Hedge gaps always looked ordinary but just slightly…wrong…from the human side. Faery glamour had a recognizable quality to it if you knew what to look for: a fuzziness at the corner of your eyes, a half-heard voice that sounded suspiciously like your own assuring you that there was nothing there to see. 

It raised the hackles on Virgil’s neck. He startled when his shoulders touched the opposite wall; he hadn’t even realized he’d been backing away.

“Should we open it, do you think?” Roman asked, thumbing at the hilt of his sword. “Or do you think just standing on this side will be enough?”

In any other circumstance, Virgil would have felt some petty satisfaction in how Roman’s voice wavered.

“I don’t know, this was your brilliant plan,” Virgil snapped in a half whisper. Now that he was actually face to face with a doorway that led back _there_ , what little courage he’d mustered was failing fast. 

“Maybe let’s just…wait and see if anything happens.”

Roman shrugged and moved several paces back, placing himself in the shadow of the costume rack. Virgil slumped against the opposite wall, facing the door-that-almost-wasn’t. 

_This is a bad idea._

Virgil’s brain was rarely helpful. 

_This is a stupid, suicidal idea and you never should have listened to Roman. What’ll happen if Deceit and his smirk and his awful snake face actually do step through that door? You’ll have a panic attack and he’ll put you under his thrall and you’ll be captured._

_And he’ll put you right back to making dolls._

His breath sped up… _no_. Virgil fisted his hands and counted 4-7-8 until his body stopped shaking uncontrollably. They’d gotten this far, Roman had his sword and all his Smile skills, and so far their luck had held. 

Twenty minutes in, Virgil became restless enough to pull out his phone and start a round of Word Crush. 

Forty minutes in, he nearly dropped said phone in terror when Logan’s ringtone cut through the quiet with the suddenness of a scream. He answered it out of sheer reflex. 

“Logan!” he squeaked, clearing his throat so he wouldn’t sound like he’d nearly had a heart attack. “Um, what’s up?”

“ _You two have been gone for some time_ ,” Logan’s crisp voice answered. “ _Has Roman found his books?_ ”

“Uh, he’s uh, still looking.” 

Roman shot Virgil a significant look, gesturing at him to hang up.

“ _You_ are _wearing your pendent, correct? I will need to charge it soon._ ”

Virgil’s heart skipped and he guiltily touched his bare neck. Vague answers were one thing, but actively lying to Logan felt shitty.

“You know I never leave the apartment without it,” he hedged instead. This seemed to satisfy the half-faery, and Virgil breathed a sigh of relief when he finally hung up.

Roman came out from behind the costume rack, looking annoyed. 

“My luck gets us all the way to the damned door and you can’t remember to silence your phone?” he complained.

Virgil ignored the jab. 

“We should go. This isn’t working, anyway,” he said, gesturing at the door. “Logan’s already on high alert; we don’t want him to get suspicious.”

Roman’s mouth twisted in disappointment, but he shrugged. 

“I kind of suspected this would take more than one day. We’ll just have to keep coming back.”

Virgil wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to come back, to sit in front of this creepy door waiting for a dangerous faery to show up, but he didn’t argue. They slipped out the same door they’d come in and dutifully trekked to the small grocery store on Main Street where they usually got food. 

Roman, mid-story about some ridiculous Smile escapade, managed to collide with a dude with a hat and cane on their way out, nearly dropping Remy's cream and vanilla and making Virgil cackle.

The next few days played out much the same way. Virgil and Roman would find some excuse to head out together (Roman did eventually acquire his music books), luck would get them into the theater (it happened differently each time, much to Virgil’s fascination), and they would sit in front of the wooden door to wait. 

Virgil was firmly convinced now that the whole plan was terrible, and only kept going because he feared _Roman_ would keep going with or without him. No matter how many times Virgil warned him, the other changeling just didn’t seem to comprehend how dangerous Deceit was. 

Exhibited by the fact that after three days of nothing, Roman got fed up, drew his sword, and flung the door open before Virgil could even begin to stop him. 

But nothing happened. 

No murderous Deceit waiting on the other side, no guards, not even the lone Fireesin Logan had spoken to on Halloween night. No one stopped them as Roman gingerly stepped through, Virgil cursing at his heels

On this side, the door became a black archway that cut through an impenetrable mass of thorny brush, supported by huge, muscly vines that grew in both directions and up, as far as the eye could follow. A second green wall ran parallel, three or four yards away, with another arch cut into the vines. Arch pairs like this occurred every hundred feet or so in both directions, until the Hedge turned and cut off their line of sight. The path between was gravel-strewn and thistle-choked, broken by an occasional crooked root. 

Gray, wan, unchanging light shone from nowhere and everywhere at once, fractured by curls of mist that drifted above the ground. There was no sun, no wind; the misty air lay still and dead.

Arcadia’s boundary maze. The great barrier between the worlds of humanity and fae. It had been three long, blessed years since Virgil had seen it.

For Virgil, for any escaped changeling, returning to the Hedge would always feel like a sickening sort of homecoming. You could run forever within its twisting, turning confines and never find an exit, save though its perilous gaps…gaps which might dump you in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, or if you dared to cross the thistle path, directly into the Bale Monarch’s throne room. 

Both changelings knew from experience to stick close to the “human” wall, and to keep well away from the parallel side of the Hedge. Arcadian gaps sometimes exuded a compulsion to step through…and worse, a gap could easily close behind and leave them trapped on the Arcadian side.

“Now what?” Virgil whispered.

Roman readied his sword and positioned himself just inside the first layer of thick Hedge vines. “Now we wait.”

Since there was no cell reception Hedgeside, (and to ideally tempt Deceit if he was close), Virgil passed the time by coaxing clusters of flowers from vine flesh until their home archway was a riot of color. 

He knew they were growing dangerously bold. 

He also hadn’t pushed his magic like this for years, not since his captivity, and he discovered that transforming an entire door’s worth of vines made him winded and his hands shaky. He also learned that Roman was familiar enough with the language of flowers to scoff at some of Virgil’s choices.

The next day, all of Virgil’s flowers had withered to gray, so he coaxed out more. 

They started staying longer, though never more than an hour or so at a time. They graduated from the occasional low whisper to normal conversation. They encountered no other faeries near the Hedge, not a single one. 

There were mornings where Virgil woke up from nightmares of Deceit’s snake face laughing at them all, dinners where he almost broke and told Logan everything. But Logan would despise him for agreeing to do something so stupid in the first place and he just…could never force the words out.

Logan, _luckily_ , remained oblivious. 

Virgil felt Roman pushing harder and harder into his own power during each trip, which was probably the magical equivalent to shouting at the top of his lungs…but for a whole week, nothing happened. 

And maybe that, more than anything else, should have been a warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thistle:  
>  _austerity, warning_
> 
> Get ready for a nice, long, fraught chapter next Wednesday...


	18. Amaryllis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An expected, but unexpected confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "We Had Everything" by Delain

_we were blind_  
_reveling in the dark of night_  
_thinking simple of love_

Logan got a call in the early morning of New Year’s Eve. 

An acquaintance from a company he’d done IT work for was throwing a party that night, and needed someone to set up some lights and computers at a location in Cassadaga. Logan didn’t know much about lighting and projection, but the guy was desperate and Logan was his last option. 

The job would take him away from DeLand for at least half the day, he explained in the long text Virgil woke up to several hours later. It also meant that Logan hadn’t had time for his morning jog, and therefore one of the changelings would need to walk Nicodemus. 

Roman wanted to go shopping for fireworks, so after breakfast Virgil volunteered for walking duty. As Logan had the car, Roman took his bicycle and Virgil took the dog to Painter’s Pond to play fetch for a while. 

The pixies were conspicuous by their absence, but Fae were notoriously fickle and Virgil didn’t think much about it.

Later, he knew Roman would want to head to the theater. 

Virgil wondered if he could talk him out of it. 

He was sweaty, tired, and looking forward to a shower when he finally called Nic in and started to put him back on his leash. 

Naturally, that’s when two squabbling squirrels came tumbling down a tree and tore across the park, and Nicodemus tore out of Virgil’s grip to chase after them. Virgil swore and called the dog, but Nic had already bolted across the street and out of view before he could even stumble to his feet. 

He cursed again, jogging in the direction he’d seen Nic go. 

_Logan will_ murder _me if I lose his dog_ , he thought, his heart pounding. _Fucking squirrels!_

He wandered downtown, calling, frantically asking people if they’d seen the brown lab. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and Virgil was beginning to legitimately panic. Nic was normally so well-behaved that nothing like this had ever happened, and he didn’t know what to do. 

Should he keep looking, or did he dare head back to the apartment in hopes that the dog would wander home? What if he _didn’t_? What if Nic got hit by a car, or caught by animal control, or…Virgil swore fluently in Faery and stopped to catch his breath. 

He needed help.

Calling Logan was obviously out of the question, but maybe Roman? Virgil would be forced to admit he’d lost Nic in the first place…but they’d cover more ground with Roman’s bike. Virgil was willing to put up with the inevitable teasing if it meant finding Logan’s dog.

A flash of brown around a corner caught his eye. He ran full out between two buildings, calling and swearing in equal measure, and stumbled to a halt on the empty sidewalk. Again he paused to take stock of where he was, breathing hoarsely, Nic’s leash still dangling from his fingers. 

A familiar, stately, red-brick building sat alone across the street; the front dominated by half-domed glass entrances and a ticket counter, situated under two bright red signs reading _Athens_ and _Theater._

Nicodemus sat placidly by one of the lampposts outside. 

Virgil exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Nic, come!” he called, fully expecting the dog to romp over like he always did. 

Nic didn’t move.

The sun chose that moment to slip behind a cloud, and a chill slipped down Virgil’s spine. The dog continued to sit, silent and unnaturally still; no wagging tail, no lolling tongue, no sign that he’d heard Virgil at all. 

Instinctively he brought his hand to his chest, to feel the reassuring bite of Logan’s pendant…

…which he wasn’t wearing. 

Virgil gasped aloud, clutching his bare neck. He’d forgotten to put it on! Logan’s stupid text that morning had thrown everything off…and he’d been taking it off so often with Roman that he hadn’t even noticed its absence.

Panic slid its icy fingers down his body. 

The weirdly placid dog, the empty theater across the way, an empty sidewalk, unprotected, completely exposed: none of this felt like an accident. He knew he should just grab Nic and run, but something in his gut held him still. 

With shaking hands, he dialed Roman’s number. The other changeling answered on the first ring. 

“ _Anxiety! Well, color me surprised_ ,” Roman’s boisterous voice carried an undertone of concern, which made sense: Virgil had never called him before.

“ _Everything okay?_ ” 

“Roman,” Virgil managed.

“ _Uh, yeah, that’s me. I wasn’t even sure you actually kept my number, to be honest, so —_ ”

“Roman, I’m in front of the theater.”

Dead silence on the other end. Virgil heard the jingle of a store bell, and guessed the other changeling had stepped outside. 

“ _Anxiety, what is going on?_ ” Roman asked in a much more serious voice.

“Nic took off after a squirrel and I lost him, and suddenly somehow I’m in front of the theater and Nic is there and he won’t come to me and I _don’t have my pendant_ , Roman, and—!”

“ _Whoa, Panic at the Everywhere, take a breath!_ ”

Virgil sucked in a breath. On the other end of the phone, it sounded like Roman was unlocking his bike.

Nic continued to sit by the lamppost, so innocent and so close and yet everything about this whole setup felt _wrong_. It was too quiet, the road too empty. No cars, no people. Even the never-ending New York Avenue traffic, one street over, sounded muted. 

“Something…something’s wrong,” Virgil said, willing his heart to slow down as he continued to watch the theater doors. Every nerve in his body thrummed. 

“Logan never gets calls like that, at five fucking AM from someone he barely knows,” he added. “Nic never runs off and now suddenly he’s right here, within reach, and I _should_ just go get him except he’s acting so fucking _weird_ right now and I’m too scared. Because suddenly I feel like everything that’s happened this morning has been leading up to this.” 

He took a shaking breath. “It doesn’t feel like coincidence. It feels like _you_.”

The last bit came out more accusatory than he’d intended, but Roman, to his credit, only hummed thoughtfully.

“ _Anxiety, I am going back to the apartment for my sword right now. Can you meet me there?_ ”

Virgil swallowed. “I don’t…I don’t know. I can’t just leave Nic.”

There was a tense pause. 

“ _Do you actually see anyone in or around the building?_ ” Roman asked. Wind muffled the phone speaker and Virgil heard the squeak of Roman’s ancient bicycle. 

“No. But…I feel watched.” He exhaled carefully and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I can’t think straight—”

“ _Gay_ ,” Roman muttered.

“—when I’m like this!” Virgil nearly shouted. “I don’t know what’s actually a threat and what’s just my stupid anxiety—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Roman interrupted. “ _You were right; Nic leading you straight to that damned Hedge gap on the one day you forget to wear your pendant sounds_ exactly _like my kind of luck. Dammit! My magic always fucks things up when I push it too hard or try to get too specific._ ”

“Don’t you start freaking out, Princey; that's my job.” Virgil attempted a joke and felt it fall flat. 

“ _I’m at the apartment, okay? I’m getting my sword and then I am coming to you. Do not hang up, you hear me?_ ”

“Look, maybe…maybe it’s nothing.” Virgil muttered, gripping the phone. Talking to Roman was actually grounding, despite the other’s growing nervousness; it kept him out of his own spiraling thoughts. 

He was going to feel awfully stupid if Roman came charging in with his sword over nothing. 

“Maybe I should just get Nic and come home.”

“ _What exactly is the dog doing that’s weird?_ ” Roman asked.

“Nothing. But that’s just it,” Virgil said, swallowing. “He’s literally just sitting by the lamppost. I tried calling him but he won’t even look at me.”

“ _Virgil, that…kinda sounds like faery-thrall_ ,” Roman pointed out softly.

That’s exactly what Virgil had been hoping it wasn’t.

“Shit,” he said through gritted teeth.

“ _If he’s thralled right out in the open like that, it means he’s meant to be bait_ ,” Roman added. “ _Which means that under_ no circumstances _should you cross that street._ ”

“We can’t just abandon Logan’s dog!” 

Logan was already going to kill him for getting Nic mixed up in this.

“ _We’re not abandoning anyone, but you are going to fucking wait for me!_ ” Roman sounded slightly winded; he had to be pedaling hard. “ _Just do not do anything stupid for the next few minutes. All right, Anxiety?_ ”

Virgil winced at the sound of that name in Roman’s worried voice. It felt profoundly dishonest, dangerous even, especially considering what might be about to happen. 

Enough was enough.

“Look, Roman,” he said slowly. “If things go badly today—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” the other changeling warned.

“— you deserve to know. My…my actual name. It’s stupid to keep up this charade.”

“ _Nothing will go badly_ ,” Roman growled. “ _You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t ready to._ ”

“I want to, okay?” Virgil snapped, and then sighed.

“ _Okay_ ,” Roman said after a moment.

“My name is…” Virgil trailed off, biting his lip. That was the trouble with secrets and lies; even small ones grew all jagged and spiky and difficult to break without drawing blood. _It’s like a bandaid_ , he reminded himself. _Just rip it off._

“My name is Virgil!” he practically shouted. “Virgil Storm.” Then he cringed, waiting for Roman’s reaction.

“ _Virgil?_ ” The other repeated, and Virgil heard what sounded suspiciously like a snort. He must have growled, because Roman’s voice rose several octaves. 

“ _No, no, I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing, I swear! I just wasn’t expecting something so…different. But I like that it’s different!_ ”

A tiny spark of warmth blossomed in Virgil’s chest…an inane thing to notice…but then Nicodemus, across the street, chose that moment to turn his head toward Virgil. 

The unnatural malevolence in those canine brown eyes knocked Virgil back a step.

“Roman, he moved!” Virgil gasped. “His eyes, they… _shit_.”

“ _What?_ ” Roman snapped.

A tall, lanky figure rose from the grass next to the dog, laying a pale hand on the dog’s ruff. Terror bubbled up in Virgil’s throat at the sight of that familiar pose, that smirk. At some point he’d added a hat to his usual yellow-and-black wardrobe. 

Another bolt of recognition crashed through Virgil’s mind.

“Fuck, Princey; the guy you ran into at the grocery store, with the stupid fedora? That was _him_. All this time—” Virgil’s voice cracked. “He’s been playing us this whole fucking time, he was never in the Hedge, he’s been in town watching me parade around without my pendant…”

“A fedora? I am _not_ insulted.” Deceit commented in a soft, sinuous voice that carried across the street. He thumbed the brim of his hat. “This is a bowler, sweetie.”

Virgil couldn’t move. He couldn’t _breathe_.

“ _Wait, is that_ him _? Talk to me!_ ” Roman’s voice shouted, sounding far away. 

Oh…Virgil had lowered his hand, some part of his brain realized as he watched the tall faery stroke Nic’s fur. He could still hear Roman yelling on the other end of the call, but it felt distant, remote. Unimportant.

“ _Virgil, I am literally on New York Avenue, five minutes away, please do not do anything stupid!_ ”

“You’re _not_ going to hang that up now,” Deceit said.

“ _I heard that, don’t you_ dare _hang up, Virgil—!_ ”

Virgil hit the end call button and slid the phone back into his hoodie pocket. 

“You _shouldn’t_ come over here, pet,” Deceit crooned, still stroking Nic’s velvet ears. “It’s been such a _brief_ time since we’ve seen each other.”

Virgil’s legs were taking him across the street before his mind could even stop to wonder what the hell he was doing. By the time his conscious self started screeching _no, no, stop!_ , he was directly in front of the faery, with only Nic’s placid sitting form between them. 

He studied his former master and it was like stepping back in time.

_Red skies._

_Stitches._

_Death._

The faery wore his ‘human’ wardrobe, curated to look like he was impersonating an old movie villain: straight skinny slacks, dark purple tunic with obnoxious yellow trim, matching caplet, the ever present long bangs that fell in front of his normal eye. 

_The cloying scent of crushed greenery and decaying flesh._

He carried a cane that was sometimes a venomous snake…or a snake that was sometimes a cane; Virgil was never sure which. Today it was mostly a snake, fat yellow coils curled languidly around the faery’s neck, dead eyes staring at nothing. 

_Laughter. Voices in his head, mocking…_

And the stupid hat, which was new; emphasizing his knifelike, full-blooded fae ear tips.

Virgil knew he was tumbling headfirst into the freefall of faery-thrall, but merely knowing was never enough to stop it. Deceit’s magic fed on fear, and when was Virgil ever not afraid?

“Look at you,” the faery said, thin lips curling into a smile. “It’s so _awful_ to see your pretty face again, Virgil Storm.”

Virgil shuddered. The least of Deceit’s sins was his infuriating habit of saying the exact opposite of what he meant…except when he didn’t, and you never knew which was which. 

Either was possible. Either was cruel.

Every cell of his body fought Deceit’s insidious thrall, but it was like his conscious mind had been neatly crammed into a little box in the corner of his brain, screaming uselessly. 

_I’m not afraid I’m not afraid I’m not afraid…!_

Lies. He’d been marinating in terror since he’d spotted Nic sitting by that damned lamppost. He never stood a chance. 

He’d been insane to let Roman convince him otherwise.

The faery lifted a finger and dragged it along Virgil’s jaw, making his whole body shudder. 

“I see you’ve finally decided to come home to me.” Deceit’s voice dropped to a purr. The cold finger brushed Virgil’s neck, slipped over his shoulder and traced down his sleeve until it met his hand. 

“And look! You _haven't_ brought a gift. A leash; how fitting.” 

Nic’s nearly forgotten leash was freed from Virgil’s unresisting fingers. 

A sob welled up, but even the shame of tears was denied him. How could he have been so _stupid_ as to let Roman talk him into luring Deceit here without Logan’s help? 

Deceit abruptly switched to Faery and hissed in Virgil’s ear. “ _Did you really think I would fall into your pathetic little trap? Freedom has made a fool of you, pet; I know I did_ not _teach you better._ ”

Virgil remembered. _Secrets and lies. Never reveal your motives. Never let anyone see the extent of your magic. Never reveal what it is you can do._

Now he would pay the price of not listening. 

“ _Were you showing off, I wonder, flaunting your power like that_?” Deceit went on. “ _But why? Whom were you trying to impress? The dark, pretty bastard, or the boisterous one_?” 

_Of course_ , if Deceit had been spying on Virgil from the human side of the Hedge, he would know about the other two. A shiver slipped down Virgil’s spine, and he was momentarily thankful that Deceit’s thrall meant he couldn’t accidentally reveal anything with his face. 

Had Roman’s luck been responsible for any of this…or had Deceit really been ten steps ahead this whole time?

Was there any difference, at this point?

They should have never done this without Logan. 

“And to think my good fortune in running into you today is due entirely to this _darling_ creature.” The faery passed slender fingers over Nic’s unnaturally still head. “The beast doesn’t even realize how thoroughly it has betrayed you. Oh, what shall we do with it, hmm?”

Virgil’s heart began to pound; he knew that look in Deceit’s eyes. The faery rubbed his lips, fake-frowned, and then snapped his fingers. 

“Ah yes. We’ll let you resharpen some of the skills you’ve undoubtably let slide.” He laughed, a high-pitched, chilling sound. “Fresh specimens are much easier to reanimate, after all. What do you think, pet?”

Virgil felt the thrall loosen from his mouth, but he stayed silent. Anything he said would make this worse for poor Nic. Deceit’s mouth pressed into a thin line, all the way up to his ear on his left side. 

Deceit used his two-sided face to his advantage. Typically he began conversations with his head turned, so that only the “normal” side was visible. His right eye was an unassuming muddy black, his jawline shapely and narrow, his mouth lifted in a smirk that might have been handsome if it wasn’t so cruel. 

The left side, however…

“Virgil. Kill this beast and let us be on our way,” he ordered. “You can bring it back to life once we return to the proper side of the Hedge.”

To Virgil’s horror, his legs bent and his hands rose up of their own volition. They gripped on opposite sides of the dog’s head, ready to twist… 

“No,” he bit out, using every ounce of strength in his body to resist. Nic’s blank, thralled eyes stared into his; the dog’s breath came out in sharp huffs. Deceit couldn’t make him kill Nic, _never_ , not like this…

Deceit abruptly turned his left eye on Virgil, who unconsciously jerked back. The green scales, the fangs, that sunken, yellow snake eye still haunted his nightmares; they had for years. 

“If you won’t obey, I suppose I could make it punish you first.” 

The faery gestured. 

Nic growled and climbed to his feet, snapping at Virgil with foreign malevolence. 

“ _Don’t_ be reasonable, Virgil,” Deceit crooned, leaning close to Virgil’s ear again. “I only want to help you, to give you what you actually want.”

The words bored through Virgil’s head, mocking; he couldn’t block them out.

“You know you miss it. Crafting the perfect vessel. Laying all the veins and arteries and nerves just so. Holding a heart in your hands and making it beat.”

Virgil trembled, eyes squeezing closed.

“It is art, Virgil, what you are capable of. You miss the thrill of it.” The faery grinned, his yellow eye flashing. “Confessss.”

Virgil remembered fixing Nic’s toy, the day Logan had brought Nic home. The tiny, careful stitches, the soft, red satisfaction of pulling a thread tight and guiding a piece together… _oh gods_. 

He _did_ miss it. 

His treacherous hands shook against Deceit’s thrall.

_Fetch-maker._

“Wordss, changeling,” Deceit said softly. “I’ll even make you a deal. Tell me, truthfully, you never loved making dolls for me, and I _won’t_ let you go.”

Virgil gaped. 

“I _won't_ know if you lie,” the faery warned in a cutting voice. 

_I hated it, I hated every second, I hate what I am, what you made me…_

His pride snarled a litany of fitful lies, but Virgil had learned the hard way that attempting to outsmart or outlast one of Deceit’s games was a painful exercise in futility. The faery savored truths from unwilling lips, but he loved it more when you tried to lie. 

Better to swallow your pride and keep your sanity. 

Better to give Deceit what he wanted.

“I miss it,” he grated out, the words like bile on his tongue.

“You miss it, _what_ , my pet?”

Virgil wanted to throw up. _Master_ , his thralled mind whispered, but suddenly all he could picture was Logan standing here; _Logan_ , hearing those pathetic words pass his lips.

Logan, who’d risked so much to keep Virgil safe. He’d opened up his home, taken him stargazing just to make him feel included, put up with his anger and his sarcasm and his stubbornness…and in the end, Virgil had thrown it all in his face. 

‘ _Master_ ’ would be the last nail in the coffin of his betrayal.

Nic snapped at Virgil’s leg: a warning. He wondered if Deceit would let Nic maul his unresisting body, or would he force Virgil to fight back. He wasn’t sure which would be worse…

“Get off him!” a voice shouted.

Roman leaped in with his sword already flashing. The faery snarled, fangs bared; Virgil was roughly shoved aside, hands scraping the sidewalk, stinging, and that pain plus Deceit’s distraction were just enough. 

Suddenly Virgil had complete control of his limbs again. 

He scrambled to his feet. 

Roman faced off with Deceit, who’d shifted his fingernails into long, thin blades. The lion-haired changeling had drawn blood with that first strike; a shallow cut along Deceit’s leg, which unfortunately didn’t seem to be hampering the faery’s movements much. 

The two fell back and were now circling each other, backs and arms tense, searching for openings.

_No…no, no, dammit._ Virgil swore viciously.

Roman might grin now, all teeth and sharp edges, but this was exactly what Virgil had feared: the stupid changeling getting drawn into a one-on-one bout with an Unseelie Court Fae. 

_If Roman hadn’t yelled like a stupid action hero when he ran up, he might have taken the damned faery down before he saw it coming, like we’d planned!_ But no, Roman just had to be a paladin at heart; subduing his enemies face-to-face, blade to blade, with honor, chivalry, and long monologues. 

_It's why he doesn’t stand a damned chance!_

“Virgil, run!” Roman shouted, feinting and pulling back when the faery didn’t take the bait. “I’ve already called Logic and I’ve got this.”

Virgil appreciated that even in the heat of the moment, Roman remembered to keep Logan’s name a secret.

“Yes, _do_ run away,” Deceit added. 

He smirked in Virgil’s direction and terror slid back into his veins, buckling his knees and forcing him to the ground. 

Roman realized his mistake and bared his teeth.

“You will not lay another finger on him, Deceit,” he snarled, gripping his sword so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Deceit?” The faery shot an uncharacteristically startled look towards Virgil, and then burst out laughing. 

“Oh, that’s adorable, I _hate_ it. Bad Deceit!” He playfully slapped one hand with the other. “Oh, sorry Deceit!”

Virgil could _strangle_ Roman. That name had always been a private thing between him and Patton; he’d known Deceit would mock him for it if he ever found out. 

But he supposed Roman couldn’t be blamed for not knowing that.

“As to your statement, you’ll find it’s quite _correct_ ,” the faery added. “I _won’t_ do precisely as I please.”

Deceit was abruptly back at Virgil’s side, one knuckle roughly tilting his head upward. The faery’s fingernail blades rested deceptively gentle across Virgil’s collarbone and chest. Several feet away, Roman blanched, lowering his sword. 

A mistake.

Deceit darted in, long nails whipping faster than even Virgil’s changeling gaze could track. Roman blocked a half dozen blows, the awful nail-on-chalkboard screech of metal striking bone filling the air, before staggering back. Then he blocked a few more. 

He was good, _really_ good; Virgil could see it in his graceful dodges, the smooth glide of his sword from one position to the next, but the faery was relentless. And superhumanly fast. Virgil suspected the only reason he hadn’t landed a hit yet was due to pure dumb luck…which meant Roman’s magic was the only thing keeping him alive.

Virgil _should_ have run. His power was useless in a fight and his presence was a dangerous liability. Unfortunately, Deceit’s renewed thrall had robbed him of that choice. His legs were icy cold and heavy, his lungs full of bramble, his heart tripping painfully over itself. 

He pressed his face into Nic’s warm flank, gritting his teeth at his own _helplessness_ … 

Wait.

Nic.

If nothing else...maybe he could at least save the damned dog.

“Hey,” Virgil whispered, gripping his head. “Nicodemus Ursae. I know you’re still in there. _Look_ at me, boy.”

Nic’s head and body were trained on the fight, but his eyes flickered in Virgil’s direction and his breathing grew shallower. Virgil felt a surge of hope.

“You gotta break out of this, okay? Please?”

The dog, still not looking at him, let out a soft, low whine.

“I know it’s hard,” Virgil murmured, pressing his face against the soft fur. “Gods know I couldn’t break free of that maniac for sixteen years, but I didn’t have anyone like Logan in my life to go back to. You do. You’ve got people who love you and need you to be safe.”

Nic’s whine grew louder at the sound of Logan’s name. Virgil seized on that.

“That’s right, Nic; _Logan_ , your person. I know you can break free for _him_.” He forced his sluggish hand to stroke Nic’s soft ears. “Logan’s the one who takes you running every morning and grumbles that your favorite dog food is expensive as fuck, but he keeps buying it because he knows you like it.” 

He laughed, breathlessly.

“That’s just how Logan is, though, you know? Takes care of everybody, doesn’t ask anything in return. Even the ones who don’t appreciate him like they should, who fight with him and sulk and run off and don’t—” 

Virgil shuddered and had to stop for breath, aware of stinging eyes and a chest that was too tight. 

Nic rose smoothly to his feet, and for a moment Virgil’s heart soared.

But the dog merely trotted towards where Deceit stood…over Roman’s prone body. His sword lay nearby. Red, human blood dripped from the faery’s knifelike nails. Deceit had turned his back to the fallen changeling, clearly dismissing him as a threat; he lay hands on either side of Nic’s face, stained nails fanning out on either side like a macabre mane, saying something softly in Faery.

_No…no, no, no…_ Virgil’s hands began to shake but _wait, he’s moving, Roman is still moving, he’s still alive...!_

It was difficult to tell how badly Roman was hurt, but he’d turned over on his stomach, raising his head just enough for Virgil to see his expression of white hot fury. His hazel eyes met Virgil’s and he thrust his chin at the distracted faery. 

The message was clear: _distract him._

“Hey!” Virgil shouted before his mind had quite caught up. Deceit’s gaze flickered to him, yellow snake eye flashing, and what little courage Virgil had quivered.

“Let…let the dog go,” he said, hating how his voice cracked. “I’ll go with you, just…”

“Oh I intend to,” Deceit purred, moving fluidly to his feet. “I have commanded this simple creature to report back to its master and show him just how _excellent_ of a job he’s done in keeping you away from me.” The faery laughed, cold and cruel. “I _don’t_ wish I could see the look on his face.”

Virgil's fists clenched at the taunt, but at least, _at least_ Nicodemus would be back in Logan's care, _safe_.

Roman had made it to his knees but gripped his side, face pinched with pain. 

Nic took a few steps; paused; took a few more. He danced sideways and swiped a paw across his face, whining. Then he took a few more steps...toward _Virgil._

“Go on, you filthy creature,” Deceit snapped, pointing in the opposite direction, toward downtown. 

Nic whined, his eyes on Virgil, who swore softly as he realized what was happening. _Ah hell,_ now _he starts fighting the thrall._

“Go on, buddy,” he whispered. “Go home.” 

_Get away while you can_ , he added silently. _It’s more than I can do._

The dog took a halting few steps back, still whining pitifully, still pawing at his face.

Roman had gained his feet, hair a mess, blood smeared across his face. He staggered, silently, toward his sword. HIs fingers closed around it, slowly. 

Too slowly. 

Deceit sighed. “Earthly creatures are so useless. Why _don’t_ I bother.”

Everything happened at once. Roman lunged as the faery’s bladed nails descended onto Nic. There was tearing, a stomach-wrenching yelp of animal pain; Virgil yelled as the dog tumbled across the grass. The doors to the theater slammed open and a tall, familiar someone came storming out.

“ _Get away from them_!” Logan snarled in a terrible voice, speaking Faery, eyes flashing pure white. 

Ice exploded from the dirt to encase Deceit’s feet as Roman gave a hoarse yell, sword flashing. It crunched down through flesh and nail and bone, severing eight faery fingers from their hands and wrenching a scream from Deceit’s throat. 

The phantom pain set Virgil’s nerves alight; Virgil, who was still half under the faery’s control.

Deceit screamed. 

Virgil screamed.

The thrall snapped like a rubber band between them.

Virgil crumpled to the ground and knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amaryllis:  
>  _pride_


	19. Carnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath, and someone new...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "On the Faultline (Closure to an Animal" by Sonata Arctica

_here i stand and look at my life_  
_barren, cold, and incomplete_

Sound returned first: car doors slamming, a motor turning over, soft voices. 

Then sensation: the floor, swaying, vibrating beneath him, a warm body next to his, a pounding in his head like an army of goblin hammers.

Virgil groaned and opened his eyes to find himself stretched out in the back of Logan’s blue Fit. 

“Virgil!” Roman whipped around from the front passenger seat. “Thank the gods of Arcadia.”

“Princey,” Virgil croaked, and swallowed. “You look like shit.”

Roman laughed, which turned into a hiss of pain. He sported a nasty scrape across his temple and forehead, blood-matted hair, and a clean slice across one cheek, but his dark eyes were clear and wide with concern.

Virgil pushed himself up to look out the back window. They were still in DeLand, it looked like; somewhere on a back road. 

“Where are we going?”

Logan spoke up for the first time. 

“The hospital.”

His voice was placid but cold, so cold. Physically, he was an uncharacteristic mess: hair falling out of its tail, blue necktie hanging loose around his collar, glasses perched precariously at the end of his nose. 

A soft whimper drew Virgil’s attention to the warmth next to him. 

Nic lay stretched across the back, wrapped in Virgil’s hoodie, brown fur matted with blood, eyes closed…but at least he was alive. The black plaid jacket hid the worst of the damage Deceit’s nails had done, but Virgil could tell it was bad. 

Really bad. 

He rubbed his hoodie-less arms, and reached over…

“Don’t touch him!” Logan snapped.

Virgil jerked away like he’d been stung. The half-faery took a deep breath, his knuckles tightening on the wheel.

“We will not know the extent of his injuries until I can get him to a vet,” he said in a calmer voice. “Therefore it is imperative that we disturb him as little as possible.”

Virgil exhaled shakily, guilt welling up in his stomach like acid. 

“Then let’s go now,” he said, meeting Logan’s gray eyes in the rear view mirror. “Forget the hospital. Nic needs help more than we do.”

“Are you sure?” Roman turned to eyeball him again. “You were—”

“Thrall’s a bitch but I’m _fine_ ,” Virgil insisted.

Logan’s fingers drummed on the wheel as he considered it.

“We are less than five minutes from the emergency room,” he said at last. “Are you both absolutely sure?”

They had paused at a deserted neighborhood intersection.

“Virgil’s right,” Roman said softly. “He says he’s fine, and I can wait. Nic can’t.”

“Very well.” 

Logan hit a button on the steering wheel and commanded the GPS to take them to the DeLand Animal Hospital. 

“Thank you,” the half-faery added as they continued on, and the relief in his voice told Virgil he was far more worried about Nic than he’d let on. 

_He loves that damned dog so much_ , Virgil thought miserably. _And yet he would have absolutely driven Roman and I to the hospital first, no hesitation._

_We don’t fucking deserve Logan Ursae._

Virgil felt a pang of pity for Roman, whose injuries actually did probably need medical attention. But on the other hand, that whole disaster with Deceit had been Roman’s idea. They were lucky… _ha!_ …to be alive.

Virgil settled back down next to Nic, careful not to touch him, and leaned against the rear hatch. He tried not to analyze the dog’s shallow breaths, his occasional whimpers of pain.

_Why did I let Roman talk me into that stupid plan?_ he asked himself for the millionth time, squeezing his eyes shut. _I was almost captured, Roman’s all fucked up, Nicodemus might die, and Deceit…_

“Tell me you at least killed Deceit,” Virgil said aloud, keeping his eyes closed. “Please tell me it wasn’t all for nothing.”

Silence.

Virgil thunked his head against the window hard enough to see stars and swore viciously in Faery. He felt like screaming.

“I’m _sorry_ , all right?” Roman snapped, whipping around. “At least I managed to cut off those fucking knife-hands.”

“He’s a shapeshifter, Roman, he’ll just grow them back in a few weeks!” Virgil snarled, needing somewhere to direct his helpless fury.

“Well pardon me, _Vomity_ Central,” Roman started nastily, “but when you become an expert on fighting faeries—”

“Both of you, enough!” Logan yelled, slapping a hand so hard on the steering wheel that even Roman was startled into silence. 

The half-faery took a deep breath, and then another. 

“I had not planned to yell,” he added, his voice steely and cold. “I had hoped I would not need to. I had _hoped_ that you already comprehended how ill-advised, and shortsighted, and _imbecilic_ …”

Logan’s voice started to rise again and he cut off, gritting his teeth. “You have both abused my trust abominably,” he said, biting off every word, “and I will have _no more_ of your incessant bickering on top of it.”

An awful silence fell.

“Sorry, Logan,” Roman whispered after a moment, turning away and resting his head on the passenger window.

Virgil hunched, miserable, and fought back bitter tears. 

The rest of the drive was quiet, save for the cheery GPS giving directions. Ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a large, green-roofed building and Logan shut off the car. 

“Wait here,” he commanded, tossing the keys to Roman. “I will see if they have a gurney.”

He re-tightened his tie against his polo collar, smoothed a hand over his hair, and walked briskly into the building. When he’d vanished from view, Roman thunked his head against the back of his seat.

“We fucked up,” he said quietly, nothing of the usual bravado in his voice. 

“No shit, Princey,” Virgil answered venomously. 

“I just thought…it would go better than that. I thought if we—”

“If we _what_ , Roman?” Virgil surged forward and shoved the back of Roman’s seat. “What would you have had us do differently? I fucking _warned_ you that Deceit was too dangerous for the two of us to handle alone, and now Logan is rightfully pissed because Nic might die!”

“Well, at least I wasn’t the one who got the damned dog involved!” Roman’s voice cracked.

“Oh, like it wasn’t _your fucking luck_ that created the chain of events that led us both straight into that trap?”

“My ‘fucking luck’ is the only reason I’m not dead and you’re not in Arcadia right now!” Roman snarled, turned all the way around in his seat now. “So could you like not, like, rub it in? Because sure, I’ll admit it; it did not end well. But you agreed to the plan, too!”

“Cause you would have done it on your own if I hadn’t,” Virgil countered.

“No!” Roman shoved a finger right in Virgil’s face. “I’m not an idiot and I’m not _blind_ , Virgil. You wanted to impress _him_.” 

He pointed at the vet building entrance, where Logan had disappeared.

Virgil’s face twisted and he shoved Roman’s hand away, prompting a bitter laugh from the other.

“To be honest, I kinda wanted to impress him, too,” Roman admitted in a quieter voice. “Be able to say, ‘ _this_ is what Smile can do, you alexithymic bastard’, you know?” 

Virgil exhaled. 

Maybe he should have just let Deceit recapture him. It certainly would have spared Roman and Logan a lot of grief.

Roman ran a hand gingerly through his hair, wincing as his fingers caught on dried blood. 

“Sorry about your hoodie, by the way,” he added, glancing back. “We had to check you for injuries, and then Nic was bleeding so bad and there was nothing else in the car to wrap him up with—”

“It’s fine,” Virgil interrupted, brushing a trembling hand over the dog’s warm head. “You did what you had to.”

Virgil doubted he’d ever be able to wear the faded plaid jacket again, there was so much blood in it… _but if it kept Nic from bleeding to death, it was worth it._ He uncurled and crawled to the rear side door, careful not to rock the car too much. 

“I’m gonna open the back hatch so Nic gets some air.”

As he did so, he saw Logan and another man, presumably one of the vets, emerge from the hospital, guiding a stretcher on wheels towards the car. Virgil checked the hatch to make sure they had a clear path, forcing down the worry in his chest, and looked up again.

And did a double take, his eyes growing wide.

_It…it can’t be._

The man walking with Logan wore blue, short-sleeved scrubs and round, thick-rimmed glasses. He was half a head shorter than the half-faery, his skin scattered with freckles, and he looked to be talking animatedly, fluffy ginger curls quivering with every movement.

Virgil started across the parking lot, mouth hanging open. He wasn’t close enough to tell yet, but he’d bet his freedom that if he looked into those eyes, he’d find bright blue irises ringed in changeling yellow.

The man saw him, and slowed, and stopped, mirroring Virgil’s stunned expression.

“Oh my god,” the man breathed, hands creeping over his mouth. “ _Virgil?_ ”

“ _Patton_ ,” Virgil forced out, his voice breaking. “ _How_ …I thought—”

He was interrupted by a squeal and suddenly his arms were full of Patton Foster, his best and only friend from Arcadia, the only person who’d made those hellish years bearable. Virgil buried his nose in those familiar ginger curls, too stunned to move.

“You got out too, I’m so _glad_!” Patton babbled in his ear. 

The familiar cerulean voice, breaking yellow when he got excited, still held the faintest hint of an Irish burr. Patton had been nearly four when he was kidnapped from his home in Ashford, Ireland; old for a changeling, old enough to remember his family and his last name. Old enough to keep his native accent. 

It had faded to a barely detectable lilt on certain vowels, but its very presence was soothing to Virgil, who hadn’t heard it in years.

“I tried to join a Grimm chapter and get them to come after you,” Patton went on, “but it didn’t work out and the I had to move from Pennsylvania and never had the money to go back and I wouldn’t know where to look anyway and—”

“Whoa, Patton, slow down!” Virgil commanded, pushing him off and gripping his shoulders. “First of all, how did _you_ get out of Arcadia? You just vanished that night and never came back; I thought you’d been stolen, or sold, or Deceit had murdered you!”

Patton’s bright blue eyes glimmered behind his glasses. 

“Deceit had us at a revel that night and I couldn’t sleep, remember?”

Virgil nodded. Patton’s changeling power involved a high level of empathy; he’d often suffered from insomnia back in Arcadia because of it.

“After you’d gone to sleep, I snuck out to get away from all the noise and accidentally ended up Hedgeside. Walked straight through a gap in the dark, like a doofus, and couldn't remember which one it was. A Grimm team happened upon me in the Hedge a few days later and…” His expression momentarily faltered, but the flash of emotion was quickly hidden with a bright smile. “Well, here I am!”

Logan, standing nearby, politely cleared his throat.

“Shit, _Nic_ ,” Virgil swore, releasing Patton’s arms. 

Finding his long-lost best friend _here_ , of all places, had nearly driven the events of the morning from his mind.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” Patton said, covering the remaining distance to the car, Logan at his heels. 

Roman had gotten out and was standing off to the side, his dark eyes flickering between Virgil and Patton with equal parts confusion and amusement. 

“Oh my goodness, you poor boy,” Patton crooned when he saw Nic, laying a gentle hand on the dog’s back flank. “And here I thought _you_ were in bad shape, kiddo.”

This he directed towards Roman, who grimaced and shrugged.

“Mr. Ursae, I will need you to help me move him,” Patton added, pulling on a pair of gloves.

Nic whimpered at being jostled, though he attempted to wag his tail when Logan stroked his head. Logan and Patton situated him on the gurney while Roman locked the car and Virgil hovered nearby, anxiously twisting his hands. 

Patton, his demeanor sternly professional now, fired rapid questions at Logan as they wheeled Nic inside. He directed them all to a large waiting room and called for another tech, who whisked Nic into the back, all the while reassuring Logan that he would keep them informed.

“Anything that needs to be done, please do it. Cost is no object.” Logan’s voice was calm but the rigidness of his shoulders betrayed his worry to Virgil, who’d become skilled at reading Logan’s subtle body language.

Patton’s mouth curled into a sweet smile that Virgil remembered from Arcadia: a tender thing of eyes and fondness; the expression of a soul that still believed in the basic goodness of things. Virgil knew the power of that smile, and he witnessed the moment even stoic, immovable Logan succumbed to it. The half-faery’s storm-battered eyes softened, and some of the tension melted from his spine.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Ursae,” Patton said, touching Logan’s elbow. “We’ll take good care of him.”

After he’d gone, Virgil sank down on one of the long waiting room benches to collect his scattered thoughts. Logan perched next to him, though with a person’s worth of space between their bodies. The cold shoulder was just one more stab at Virgil’s already sore feelings. 

Roman, on the other hand, plopped down close enough to knock knees, crossed a leg, and pinned Virgil with a look.

“So…” he began in a careful voice. “You and Freckles?”

Virgil huffed and ran a hand through his bangs. 

“It’s not like that. He was my best friend…is, _is_ my best friend, I guess?” He shook his head. “I just…I thought he was _dead_ and now, I don’t even know how to process the fact that he’s, just, _here_ ,” he concluded helplessly.

His gaze unconsciously sought out Logan, but the half-faery’s attention was still on the doors where Nic and Patton had disappeared. He was, Virgil noted sourly, still absently rubbing the elbow Patton had touched.

_Maybe you should stop blabbering about your friend_ , Virgil’s vicious inner voice reminded him. _And start apologizing for what you did today._

“Um, Logan,” he started, barely able to force the words out. “He’s…he’s gonna be okay.”

Logan turned to look at him full on, all dark eyes and hollow cheekbones and flat, disappointed mouth. Seeing the consequences of his foolishness written over that beautiful face tore Virgil’s heart into shreds.

“I’m _sorry_ , okay?” he said shakily. The distance between them felt far wider than the physical space it occupied. “Nic wasn’t even supposed to be there, it’s my fault he got dragged into the middle of things.” Virgil closed his eyes, biting his lip to keep from crying. “This is all my doing.”

“ _Our_ doing, Count Woe-laf,” Roman corrected from his other side. When they both turned to look at him, he sighed, and winced as the motion pulled his ribs. 

“I talked you into this. I admit, I really did think, with my powers and the element of surprise…” He looked down at his hands, and clenched them. “Needless to say, I will never underestimate a Court Fae again.”

“How did he get away?” Virgil asked.

“After I cut his fingers off and you passed out from the blowback, he shape-shifted into the slipperiest little viper I’ve ever seen,” Roman said. “Dodged both my sword and Logan’s ice, and then he got into the tall grass behind the Athens and we lost him. Plus there was Nic to consider, and you.”

This he added softly, cheeks a little pink. 

Virgil’s stomach churned guiltily.

“Roman, your pride is your Achilles heel,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. “Smile sent you away to prove you can kill a faery on your own, and as such, I believe part of you wanted to earn that kill without help from anything fae…including me. So while I do not condone your decision to leave me out of this plan you and Virgil concocted,” he sighed, and shook his head. “I understand your motivation for doing so, and as such, I can accept your apology.”

Roman winced, but appeared to accept Logan’s judgement.

“But you,” and Logan turned that calculating gaze on Virgil, who shrank into the bench. “You had everything to lose by putting yourself in danger, and nothing logical to gain.”

_Nothing ‘logical’_ , Virgil’s heart echoed. _Just Logic himself._

But it wasn’t like he could admit it now.

“I got tired of feeling useless,” he muttered, twisting his hands.

Logan hummed at that.

“I accept your apology as well, Virgil,” he said, looking away. “But I fear I will be angry with you for some time, and for that I will not apologize.”

“That’s…” Not what Virgil wanted, but, “I guess that’s fair.”

Logan only nodded. 

They all settled in to wait for news on Nic's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yellow carnation:  
>  _disappointment, rejection_


	20. Hyacinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out if the author is cruel enough to let the dog die.
> 
> Spoiler: she is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls

_and even though the moment passed me by_  
_i still can’t turn away_

They waited.

Logan, straight-backed and stiff on the hard bench, Virgil practically curled up in a ball, Roman sprawled out, phone in hand. It wasn’t as bad as the car ride had been, but Logan didn’t speak and Roman’s mouth was a flat line of discontent.

“You mentioned a friend in Arcadia once before,” Logan mused aloud. “I take it Patton is that friend?”

“Yeah.” Virgil was once again impressed at Logan’s memory for detail. 

“Is he always so…?” And for the first time since they’d met, Virgil witnessed Logan fumble for a word. “…effervescent?”

Roman snorted. “Trust Teach to default to something with four syllables.”

“I am not a teacher, Roman; I do not understand why you insist upon calling me that,” Logan grumbled.

“Yeah, he definitely is,” Virgil interrupted. “Honestly, Patton is the kindest person on the planet, and he’s got a heart of gold. Even Deceit couldn’t drive that out of him.”

Virgil’s heart seized in his chest.

“ _Shit_ ,” he said aloud, dropping his head into his hands. “Deceit was Patton’s master, too.”

There was no need to finish the thought. Roman sucked in a breath and Logan’s mouth compressed. Deceit had already given them the slip once. Anyone Virgil came into contact with could be in danger, but especially one of the faery’s own escaped thralls. 

“We will have to warn him,” Logan said firmly.

As if summoned, the waiting room door creaked open and Patton entered, pulling a mask from his face. Logan leaped to his feet and strode forward.

“Will he live?” he demanded without preamble.

“Whoa, there,” Patton chuckled, catching one of Logan’s outstretched hands and guiding him back to the bench. Virgil felt a small pang of jealousy over how easily Logan allowed himself to be handled…the half-faery himself looked a little bemused about it…but then again, it was Patton. 

Nobody could resist those eyes.

“So first of all, yes, Nic is going to be fine. None of his injuries are currently life-threatening.” Patton smiled. “So if it’s okay with you all, I think we should take a moment and introduce ourselves properly.” 

Patton turned to Roman. “I already know Virge, and Mr. Ursae introduced himself when he came in, but I don’t know your name yet.”

Roman grinned and made a grand bow. “Roman Reis, at your service.” 

Virgil snorted. 

The two shook hands, and Roman shot a delighted look at Virgil. 

“You call him ‘ _Virge_ ’?”

“Uh…yeah?” Patton cocked his head.

“And he _lets_ you?” Roman chortled.

Virgil groaned and, denied a hood to hide under, covered his face with his hands.

“Does he not let you?” Patton asked, his eyes huge and innocent behind his glasses.

“I didn’t even know his actual name until this morning!” Roman glared at Virgil, who glared back.

“Which never stopped you from coming up with a never-ending stream of insulting nicknames for me,” Virgil pointed out.

“No…hey…I’ve been trying to be nicer…” Roman protested, sounding genuinely stung. Virgil, who’d meant the jab to be sarcastic and not hurtful, huffed and knocked his knee against Roman’s.

“Relax, dude,” he muttered. “I’ve noticed the effort. We’re good right now.”

“Well, I’m Patton Foster,” Patton said cheerily. “Newly certified vet tech, been working here for about four months. I’m a changeling, obviously, but I’m sure you noticed that right away.”

He pointed at his ringed pupils.

“What does your magic do?” Roman leaned forward.

“Basically I feel others’ emotions, especially real strong ones,” Patton explained, wiggling his fingers. “And when I concentrate, I can diffuse them. Really comes in handy when I need to convince a scared, hurting fur baby to hold still.”

Virgil nodded along with the others, even though this was information he already knew.

“Speaking of fur babies,” Patton added, turning his attention to Logan. “Here’s what you do need to know about Nic.”

The half-faery nodded once.

“Our biggest concern right now is that he lost a lot of blood. He’s getting a transfusion now, and once he’s stabilized, the doctor will need to do surgery.”

“Aren’t _you_ the doctor?” Roman asked, frowning.

“Me? Oh, I’m flattered!” Patton’s cheeks flamed rosy red. “No, I’m just one of the techs. We’re like the nurses, you know? We may not have the big brains and certifications, but we get the most hands-on time with the animals.”

“Why animals?” Virgil cut in, before realizing how harsh that sounded. “I mean…with your power, I think you’d make a hell of a proper doctor.” His eyes widened. “Not that veterinarians aren’t proper doctors! Just…you know what I mean,” he finished lamely.

“Thanks, Virge,” Patton flashed a sweet smile. “I did take a few semesters of ‘proper’ med school, but human medicine was never for me. People feelings are such confusing, tangled messes; animals are honest.” His voice darkened. “I prefer honest.”

He shared a look with Virgil, who nodded in understanding. 

“Anyway,” and the professional demeanor slipped back on. “Nic has several deep lacerations, the worst of which nicked his intestines; that’s why he needs surgery and not just stitching.” He sighed, and bit his lip. “I can tell you, both as a vet and an empath, he’s going to be in quite a bit of pain for a while.” 

Patton reached down and patted one of Logan’s hands. The half-faery looked down, obviously confused at the touch, but Patton didn’t pull away.

“He’s been put through the wringer, Mr. Ursae, but I have every expectation that he’ll pull through fine.”

Logan exhaled, slowly, tipping his head toward the ceiling and running his hands through his hair. The motion flattened his ears and made pointed tips stick out to the sides. Patton’s gaze flickered to them and he bit his lip.

“Not to be rude, Mr. Ursae—”

“Logan, please,” the half-faery interrupted, still looking up. 

“Logan,” Patton repeated softly. “But you’re either the most faery-like changeling I’ve ever met in my life, or you’re…you’re one of Them.”

Logan’s mouth lifted in a thin smile and he dropped his gaze to Patton, whose cheeks grew a little pinker. 

“If I _was_ one of Them, would you treat my dog any differently?” he asked bluntly.

Patton’s expression grew hard. 

“You insult me, sir.”

Something in Logan’s stormy eyes sharpened.

“Do I?”

“Why would I judge an animal for the sins of its owner?” Patton’s blue eyes flickered to Virgil. “Besides, Logan, even if you are a faery I would still trust you.”

“Why?”

“Because Virgil does,” Patton answered, smiling at Virgil. Virgil squirmed in his seat; he’d forgotten how _terrifying_ Patton’s absolute sense of loyalty could be.

Logan’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses and Virgil expected Patton to back down, to look away. _Virgil_ sure as hell would have; having Logan study you was like standing on an empty hillside in a lightning storm. But Patton met Logan’s icy stare with implacable innocence, and oddly, this seemed to satisfy the half-faery.

The back door opened again, and a different tech stuck her head out and called for Patton. The changeling excused himself to speak with his colleague, and quickly returned. 

“They’ve just started the anesthesia,” Patton said. “The surgery will be quick, but we’re looking at at least a few hours.”

“When would I be able to see him?” Logan asked.

Patton pursed his lips. 

“This evening, if all goes well? I imagine they’ll want to hang onto him for a couple days to keep an eye on his recovery.”

Logan sighed. “Yes, that is logical. I just…I have had Nicodemus since was a puppy” His long, graceful fingers twisted in his lap. “It does not sit right, to leave him alone when he has been so gravely injured.”

Virgil had to look away, or his heart would break from either adoration or guilt. Logan was so rarely this vulnerable.

“How about this?” Patton said softly. “Let me see your phone.”

Logan raised an eyebrow and passed it over. Patton swiped a few times, tapped in some information, and handed it back. Virgil raised an eyebrow, unease bubbling up inside him. 

Had Patton just given Logan his number?

_The fuck?_

“I put my personal cell in your contacts,” he explained. “That way you won’t have to go through the front desk with any questions about Nic, and I can keep you directly up to date.” His bright smile reappeared. “I can even take pictures of your buddy once he’s feeling better.”

Virgil huffed and shook his head, hating himself for his suspicion. He should have known. That’s what Patton had always been like: going above and beyond for people, even people he didn’t know well. 

Logan, however, looked stunned.

“I…thank you, Patton. I am, uh, grateful.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Ursae, this is strictly professional,” Patton added slyly, nudging him. 

A beat passed and then Roman snorted, covering his mouth. Logan blinked several times; the equivalent of blushing straight to his ear tips, were he paler. And less self-controlled.

“I assure you, Mr. Foster, I had no illusions otherwise,” the half-faery stammered, making Roman laugh even harder. 

Virgil didn’t laugh. 

He didn’t know what to think. 

“Good one, Curls,” Roman chortled, reaching over to ruffle Patton’s fluffy hair. His dark eyes widened comically. “Oh my gosh, your hair is so soft!”

Patton giggled, his ears pink, but instead of shying away like Virgil expected, he ran a hand through Roman’s red-and-green tipped mane. 

“Yours is, too! Except for the, er, blood…”

“Well, it has been a long day,” Roman said, sighing dramatically.

“Do you dye it yourself?” Patton asked.

The mutual hair-petting turned into a half-flirty, half serious discussion about colors and conditioners until Logan crisply suggested that perhaps they should let Patton get back to his job. Goodbyes were said, Logan went to sign some paperwork at the front desk, and Roman headed outside.

Patton pulled Virgil aside and engulfed him in another hug.

“I’m still boggled that you’re here,” he said quietly against Virgil’s chest. “And glad. So glad.”

“Me too, Pat.” Virgil swallowed a lump in his throat, and grasped Patton’s shoulders. “Hey, you should know that…that Deceit is here. In DeLand, or somewhere nearby. He’s the reason Roman got his ass beat today and,” Virgil went on, “he’s the one who hurt Nic.”

Patton’s face had paled, but at this a tiny spark of anger lit his blue eyes.

“I remember those nails,” he grated. “I’m glad you told me. I didn’t sense any residual magic on the wounds but with Deceit, you never know. I’ll double check when I get back there.”

“Shit, I hadn’t even considered that.” Virgil ran fingers through his hair. “Look, if Deceit came after me, he might find out you’re here and come after you, too. You need to be careful.” His mouth compressed. “You saw what he did to Roman. The only reason I’m not back in Arcadia right now is because of him, and because Logan swooped in and saved us both.”

Patton bit his lip, his eyes darting to Logan, and then to the front doors where Roman had disappeared. His gaze came back to Virgil and his expression turned contemplative. 

“You’ve always been a good, protective friend,” Patton said, smiling. 

Then he nudged Virgil’s shoulder and added, “Also, sorry for earlier. I won’t flirt with him anymore; I wouldn’t have in the first place if I’d known how you felt.”

Virgil blanched. “Wait…what?” he stammered. 

_Do not look at Logan, do not look at Logan…_

Patton’s smile grew sly. “Empath, remember? And your feelings are kinda…loud.”

Virgil groaned and covered his face. He was starting to really miss his hoodie. _Do NOT look at Logan…_

“I can see why, though,” Patton went on. “He’s super handsome.”

“ _Patton_ ,” Virgil muttered, still looking resolutely at the floor. 

Patton giggled again and ruffled Virgil’s hair. “Hey, you better get going, kiddo. Old Cracker Jack over there is looking impatient.”

Logan had finished the hospital paperwork and was fiddling with his phone by the front doors, eyeing Virgil and Patton with the air of someone who didn’t want to interrupt. He nodded sharply at Patton’s enthusiastic wave. 

“I gotta say…that is one stoic fellow.” Patton shook his head with a wry smile. “Keeps everything close to the chest, but in a good way, you know?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said softly.

He felt a tiny bit better knowing that Patton had picked up on his feelings. Earlier, when Patton’s innocent eyes and “strictly professional” remark had left Logan tongue-tied and flustered, Virgil had felt a sickening lurch inside, like he’d stumbled to the edge of a precipice. He’d lived with Logan for _over a year_ , after all, and had never gotten such a reaction out of the half-faery. 

Patton had barely known the guy an _hour_. 

But Patton was a good person. Virgil could trust him not to make moves on his crush, or blab and make things awkward. 

_And as long as Deceit is still a threat_ , he added to himself. _We all need to keep an eye on each other._

“We should hang out sometime,” he blurted out, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Catch up or whatever.”

Patton’s whole face lit up at the suggestion. 

Virgil managed to reign in his friend’s enthusiasm long enough to exchange numbers, and point out that Logan had started tapping his foot. Patton engulfed him in one last hug, and promised both him and Logan that he’d keep them updated on Nic. 

After a brief visit to the ER to make sure Roman hadn't broken anything, the drive home was quiet. Virgil stared out the window, an old Goo Goo Dolls song crooning mournfully in his headphones. 

Roman slept. 

Logan wore a constant frown and kept flexing the fingers of his right hand, the one Patton had shaken goodbye. 

Virgil pretended not to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yellow hyacinth:  
>  _jealousy_


	21. Eglantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton comes over for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Counterpane" by The Birthday Massacre
> 
> Author's note: Hey there guys, gals, and non-binary pals...I'm sure you've noticed that today isn't Saturday, and yet here we are. I decided to post this chapter a day early, since tomorrow all of us Fanders will likely be quite thoroughly distracted. Fanon fix today, canon fix tomorrow! 😊

_some things disappear in a day_  
_and some things slowly fade_  
_and you and i are like the ink staining all the other pages_

Five days and seventy-three cell phone photos later, Nicodemus Ursae returned home to a grateful half-faery and two relieved changelings. The brown lab was battered, bandaged, and sore, but they all knew it could have been a lot worse. 

Nic’s homecoming also marked the first time Patton Foster was to join them for dinner at Logan’s apartment. 

Logan, uncharacteristically, took an entire day off from work to help Roman clean, something Virgil tried hard not to analyze too closely. Patton, being Patton, had agreed to travel, on his day off, to the hospital with Logan to collect Nic. Virgil would have gone, too, or at least helped with the tidying up…but classes and work had both started back up and he couldn’t afford to skip out. 

Virgil arrived home from work that day with a bag of rawhide and a new chew toy, rolling his eyes at Roman busily snapping pictures of the dish he’d made for them all. “Lazy Ass Lasagna”, he’d dubbed it on his Instagram page, undoubtably to the amusement of his…

“What do you have now, like, 23 whole followers?” Virgil mocked as the other typed rapidly on his phone.

“That’s more than you have, I’ll bet!” Roman didn’t even look up.

“I don’t even _have_ an Instagram, Princey, and you’re literally congratulating yourself on something you cooked in a crock pot,” Virgil pointed out.

“Oh, just deal with it, J-D-lightful!”

Virgil’s confused silence finally caused Roman to glance up at him.

“You know?” he prompted. “JD?”

Nothing.

“From Heathers?”

Virgil shrugged, still lost.

Roman’s expression flattened. “I waste my best material on you.”

Virgil was setting the table when the other two arrived, Nic and his crate and a new, fluffy dog bed in tow. Logan looked as unfairly good as always; he’d gone back to wearing his longish hair in cornrows lately, emphasizing his already devastating cheekbones and jaw. 

However, it was the first time any of them had seen Patton out of his work scrubs. Virgil took one look at his friend and bit back a snort. 

Roman, on the other hand, had no such restraint.

“Patton!” he bellowed, coming around the counter with his hands outstretched. “Look at you! You are the spitting image of a nineteen fifties sitcom dad.”

“Roman, for pity’s sake—” Logan grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

But Patton merely smiled and fiddled with the gray cardigan he’d draped and tied over his shoulders. He wore a baby blue polo shirt the exact color of his eyes, khaki pants, and (Virgil cringed) brown boat shoes. At least his ginger curls had been brushed into some semblance of order, and he’d traded his thick black work glasses for a more delicate, gold rimmed pair.

“They do call me Dad at work,” Patton said, blushing a little under his freckles. “Probably because I tend to think of everyone as my kiddos.”

“Nice nails, Popstar,” Virgil said with a smile.

Patton grinned and wiggled his fingers; he’d painted the nails a bright, sunshiny yellow to match the thin changeling rings around his irises.

Roman went to pull garlic bread from the oven. Virgil eyed Logan with a familiar ache in his lungs as the half-faery helped settle Nic into his new bed and then gave Patton a brief tour of the apartment. Not wanting to tag along and feel like an intruder, Virgil knelt by Nic’s bed. 

“Hey, boy,” he murmured. “I’m glad you’re home.”

The poor dog wore what looked like an entire first aid kit’s worth of bandages and what Patton had called a “cone of shame”, which Nic looked disgruntled about. Virgil tucked the toy he’d bought, a skunk, into the bed and rubbed the dog’s velvet ears until Roman announced dinner.

Virgil would never admit it to Princey, but his cooking continued to improve by leaps and bounds since the Turkey Disaster. 

The meal was only slightly marred by the appearance of Remy, who came out of his cabinet and plopped himself in the middle of the table. Patton’s eyes grew wide at the sight of him.

“Patton, meet the house brownie,” Logan introduced them with an apathetic flick of his wrist.

“Oh!” Patton said, “Uh, hello there.”

“Another one, Bear?” the brownie chortled, snatching up a knife and spearing a piece of lasagna from Roman’s plate, prompting a round of Offended Princey Noises. “You’ve gotten downright sociable in your old age.” 

Logan rolled his eyes while Virgil nearly inhaled a piece of bread trying not to laugh.

“Also, might I remind you that not only is sitting on the table extremely rude,” Logan added, “but last I checked, you do not even like tomatoes.”

“And why must you steal from me?” Roman added, pouting. 

Patton giggled.

“Well, nice to meet you,” he said, hesitantly holding out a hand. Remy stared at it just long enough that the smile started to slide off Patton’s face…but then the brownie smirked and shook it.

“I like this one. He can call me Remy,” he decided, spearing another piece of Roman’s lasagna and hopping down, knife and all. “Still don’t like you,” he added, pointing the pasta-laden knife at Roman.

“Chim chin cher-roo,” Virgil said. He and the brownie bumped fists while Roman groaned. 

“Later, bitches!” Remy added, disappearing back into his cabinet. 

Roman grumbled his way into the kitchen for more lasagna. 

“Virgil, I wish to say this in the least offensive way possible,” Logan said crisply, adjusting his glasses. “But you are a terrible influence.”

Virgil cackled.

“What can I say?” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes I just gotta be me… _an_ ,” he added, stuffing in a mouthful of lasagna. 

“Oh, don’t say that, Virgil,” Patton piped up, his face gone all pouty with concern. “You’ve always had a kind heart.”

“Mmm, the kind of heart that’s black as my wardrobe,” Virgil quipped back, and was surprised to get a snort from Roman as the other changeling sat back down with his plate piled high. 

After dinner they gathered in the living room; the three changelings on the sofa and Logan on the floor next to Nic’s head, as Patton gave them all tips for how to care for the dog while he continued to heal. Roman sprawled across multiple cushions, nearly horizontal with legs spread obnoxiously. Usually Virgil had to compete with those legs for space, which inevitably led to a shoving match; he was grateful for Patton’s presence between them tonight. 

If he was braver, he would join Logan on the floor. 

He’d been walking on eggshells with Logan for days, afraid any attempts to talk or hang out would be met with anger or coldness. Patton had actually been a welcome buffer during Nic’s week at the vet. He had the unique ability to simultaneously match Roman’s enthusiasm and draw Virgil out of his quiet shell, and his little pouts were often enough to diffuse their natural tendency to bicker. 

Patton challenged Logan, too, by annoying the half-faery with an incessant stream of puns and silliness, but also by listening to his "lectures" with rapt attention and asking surprisingly intelligent questions. 

(If Virgil noticed that Logan seemed to smile more during said lectures when Patton was listening, he resolutely determined to think nothing of it. Patton was just a good listener, that was all.)

More than anything, Virgil missed the easy relationship he and Logan had cultivated before the fight at Christmas, and Deceit. As if he could hear Virgil’s conflicted thoughts, Logan’s gaze slid over to him…and away again. 

Virgil hated the half-faery’s power to hurt him without even _trying_.

“We need to talk about Deceit,” Logan said, cutting off whatever Patton had been nattering about and effectively silencing the room. 

Patton’s face sobered. 

Roman, on the other hand, sat up and rested forearms on his knees, leaning forward. 

“When do we start the hunt?” he demanded. “I’ve already talked to Kate; she’s put out the word for Smile to be on the lookout. If any nearby murders see him, they’ll contact her and she’ll keep us updated on his movements.”

His expression was so terribly eager that Virgil’s heart skipped a beat in alarm.

Logan’s lips compressed. “There will be no hunt, Roman.”

“What?” Roman shot to his feet. “Why the heckity heck not? We can’t just let that fiend get away with what he did to Virgil and Nic!”

“And you. An encounter which you are still not fully recovered from,” Logan pointed out implacably.

Roman licked his lip, glowering. The split had scabbed over, as had the scrapes on his face, but he was still a mess of bruises and Virgil could tell from the way he held himself that his ribs still hurt. 

“I will train harder,” Roman declared. “I’ll get stronger and better and next time he won’t take us by surprise! I’ll—”

“Roman.” Logan stood and faced the irate changeling. “I understand that you do not easily accept defeat. You want revenge.” 

“ _Revenge_? This is about protecting Virgil!” Roman declared, lifting his chin.

“Hey, whoa, Princey.” Virgil lifted his hands. “I appreciate the sentiment, but Logan is right. We tried to outsmart Deceit once and we got our asses handed to us.”

_We’re not leaving Logan out this time, Roman_ , he added in his head.

“Deceit is a powerful Unseelie Court faery,” Logan added. “More so than I anticipated, in fact. Even if you and Virgil had successfully executed your original plan and lured him through the Hedge, I am not confident you would have been able to kill him.”

“You can’t possibly know that—”

“I do not think even _I_ could defeat him alone,” Logan finished, ignoring Roman’s protest. The changeling growled and several books toppled over on their bookshelf.

“If we went after him _together_ —!”

“We are not hunting him down, and that is final,” Logan snapped, irises flashing white.

“Roman, will you just shut up and listen for once in your life?” Virgil cut in, eyeing Logan and gripping the sofa’s arm next to him. Logan’s anger was a cold, cutting thing of teeth and ice shards, and Virgil had no desire to see it _again_. Not after five days of tentative peace. He could already feel his breath accelerating. 

Roman, already strung out and frustrated, immediately got in his face. Flowers burst from between Virgil’s splayed, white-knuckled fingers. Logan’s eyes flashed white again and the room’s temperature dropped several degrees. 

“Would it be so hard to take my side for even a _moment_ , you creepy raisin oatmeal cookie—!” Roman started.

“Okay,” Patton interjected firmly, climbing to his feet. “Calm down time.”

The smiling changeling walked to each of them in turn, brushing fingers over their heads. Logan exhaled at the touch and the white went out of his eyes. Roman sat back down, looking a tiny bit confused.

“I think we all need a little ‘not talking’ time.”

Patton reached Virgil and swiped a gentle hand through his faded bangs. Peace washed through his body, unclenching his muscles and calming his racing heart. But just as quickly, a blaze of anger took its place and he shoved Patton’s hand away.

“Gods, how pathetic is this house,” he snarled, flinging himself to his feet, “that none of us can get along without stolen faery mojo to calm us down?”

“No offense, Patton,” he added, dropping his eyes.

Patton’s mouth settled into a disappointed line. The others said nothing. 

And suddenly Virgil had had enough. 

Enough tiptoeing, for fear anything he said would lead to guilt and yelling and Logan having to step in with his own cutting rage.

Enough watching Logan stroke Nicodemus’ head and knowing that thanks to Virgil, the dog would carry scars for the rest of his life.

Enough waiting for Logan to forgive him.

Enough pretending his own feelings for the half-faery didn’t matter. 

Had never mattered.

Would never matter. 

_You’re unlovable, fetch-maker. Just accept it. Maybe you_ should _have gone back to Deceit when he offered._

Virgil stormed to his room, slammed the door, and threw himself on his bed. Thorns bit and clawed at his chest, but he’d gotten good at pushing them down. He wouldn’t cough and he wouldn’t cry.

He _wouldn’t_ cry. 

He heard the others talking in the living room; probably about him and his immaturity. _Whatever. All I ever do is bring the mood down._ They were better off without his participation.

He’d barely had time to pull out his phone and navigate to his Tumblr blog when an unfamiliar knock sounded on Virgil’s door. He bit back a sigh, knowing instantly who it was, and went to unlock the door. Roman rarely knocked at all and Logan never knocked so hesitantly.

Patton slipped inside, fiddling with his cardigan sleeves. Virgil laid back down with his back turned.

“You paint now?” Patton asked after a few quiet minutes. 

“Yeah.” 

Virgil picked at a seam on his bedspread. He felt bad for blowing up, but he wasn’t ready to apologize yet. 

“You’ve gotten good at that calming shit,” he said instead. “Better than you were in Arcadia.”

“The animals give me a lot of practice,” Patton admitted ruefully. 

Virgil rolled over to look at his friend. “So why aren’t you a Grimm?”

“I am, actually,” Patton said, blushing pink under his freckles. “Well, I haven’t been in an official chapter since my time in Pennsylvania.” He rocked back on his heels. “Now I’m like…an independent contractor, I guess? Like, if a team needed someone with abilities like mine for a mission, I’m on some master list they could pull from.”

Virgil hummed. The Youngstown Grimms had actually suggested that as a path for him as well, but at the time he’d been on the run and had assumed they’d only been trying to make him feel better about his pathetic powers. In fact, he _might_ have made a snarky comeback about how if they needed a gardener, they could call him. 

Not his proudest moment.

“Your eyes are different now, you know.” Patton leaned closer. “Your rings used to both be green.”

_What…really?_ Virgil unconsciously dipped his head, letting his bangs hide his eyes. Patton was the only person who’d known him _before_ ; before the stitching, the death, the doll-making. Was _that_ what had caused his heterochromatic rings? It wasn’t like there’d been many mirrors in Arcadia to mark the change.

“Guess I never noticed,” Virgil muttered.

“I like the purple,” Patton added with a weak smile. “It suits you.”

Virgil shrugged, hoping Patton would drop it.

“What happened out there just now, Virge?” Patton asked softly.

“I just…” Virgil huffed, and thunked his head against his pillow. “I hate when they spar like that. It riles me up until I lash out and make everything worse. Rinse. Repeat.” He sighed. “It’s gotten so much worse since Nic got hurt.”

Patton settled into Virgil’s desk chair, unknowingly mirroring Roman’s position the last time _he’d_ been in here, when he’d gotten Virgil to agree to that disastrous plan.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Patton said. “How did you end up all the way down here in Florida in the first place? And how did _Deceit_ find you here?”

Virgil huffed, and tipped his head toward the ceiling. “It’s a hell of a long story,” he warned.

Patton spread his hands. “I’ve got time.”

So Virgil told him everything that had happened since he’d escaped Arcadia: his time as a Rennie in Ohio, Deceit forcing him to flee to Florida, moving in with Logan…all the way up until New Years, and Roman’s plan, and the fallout. The only thing he left out was his stupid, pointless crush on Logan; Patton knew about it anyway, so why dwell on it?

“And you think he’ll try and take you again? Or me?” Patton mused as Virgil’s voice trailed off into silence. “Why does he want you so badly, anyway, do you know?”

_Because I was his fetch-maker._

The words were on Virgil’s lips. Patton, out of any of them, might be the only one who could possibly understand. He’d _been_ there, at least in the very beginning; though Deceit hadn’t taught Virgil to actually reanimate until after Patton had disappeared. 

Patton had noticed his changed eyes. He _had_ to at least suspect what Deceit had been training Virgil to do, to _be_.

“I mean…who knows with faeries?” Virgil looked away, the words bitter on his tongue.

He couldn’t make himself admit it. 

_Coward._

_Fetch-maker._

Patton hummed. “Sorry for butting in with my powers earlier, by the way. Watching people be angry is hard for me; it’s like…poison in the air. Even if you trust them not to turn it on you, it’s still uncomfortable to breathe it in.”

Virgil frowned and sat up. 

Patton had always been wise in his own silly, roundabout way, but Virgil knew how Arcadian trauma weighed on a soul. This felt like something else. Something recent.

“Patton,” he said with narrowed eyes. “You haven’t said much about _your_ journey between Arcadia and DeLand.”

Immediately, Patton’s megawatt smile switched on like a lamp; cheerful, ostentatious…and no substitute for the sun, once you knew the difference.

“Aw, Virgil, you say that like it must be bad!” he said brightly. “It wasn't all that exciting, that's all. I was in Pennsylvania for a while, then I moved down here, finished high school—”

“Trollshit,” Virgil snapped. 

Patton’s shoulders hunched up and he looked away, curls falling over his forehead. 

“C’mon, Padre,” Virgil added in a softer voice, laying a hand on Patton’s back. “I’ve told my side. We used to tell each other everything.”

“Not tonight, Virge,” Patton murmured, letting his face relax into a resigned sort of sadness. It looked both thoroughly ingrained and horribly unnatural on that kind, sunny face, and Virgil badly wanted to punch whoever had put it there.

“Let’s meet up, then,” Virgil suggested. “Just you and me. I need to look for a new hoodie.”

“I have work,” Patton hedged, rubbing his bottom lip. “But I get off at four tomorrow? We could meet at the coffee shop.”

During Nic’s convalescence, the four had taken to meeting in Patton’s favorite coffee shop in the shopping center across from the hospital. Virgil grimaced. 

“Coffee shop is a bit far,” he said, “and Logan has the only car between the three of us…”

_And I really don’t want to have to ask him for a ride._

Patton waved a hand. “Oh, I’ll drive. I don’t mind picking you up.” 

“Sounds like a date, then.” 

Virgil held out his fist and Patton bumped it. The other changeling then waggled his eyebrows. 

“Speaking of _dates_ …” he started, grinning. “How’s it going with Mr. Handsome?”

“No! No, we are not going there.” Virgil pushed Patton out of his chair and towards the door. Patton pouted and dug his heels in.

“I’m just saying…!”

“You are _not_ saying. I forbid you from saying anything else.”

“ _Viiiiiirge_ …”

“No!”

But Virgil felt a grin tugging at his mouth. Patton knew how to get him out of his head. The two scuffled their way into the living room, where Virgil stopped and swallowed. Logan still sat on the floor, Nic’s head in his lap, and Roman looked up from the kitchen sink.

For a moment, Virgil feared his mere presence would reignite the fight from earlier. But Roman went back to scrubbing dishes, and Logan simply held up the toy Virgil had bought for Nic.

“Really, Virgil?” Logan said dryly. “A skunk?”

Virgil opened his mouth, offended…but a small smile played around the half-faery’s lips, and Virgil realized he’d meant the quip as an apology. Affection for the half-faery twined around his ribcage. 

Patton picked up his phone from the coffee table where he’d left it. It was an ancient, battered block of a device, without even a touch screen, and Patton had warned them that he didn’t have many minutes per month. A complicated expression flitted over his face.

“Um, so, it’s getting late,” he announced. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got work in the morning, you know?”

“Of course,” Logan said, scrambling to his feet and straightening his tie. “I will drive you back to your car whenever you are ready.”

Roman came around with a bear hug and a Tupperware of leftovers, which he insisted Patton take. As the two argued good naturedly over this, Virgil snuck a peek at his own phone. And frowned. 

8:47PM wasn’t _that_ late.

“Half past four tomorrow sound good?” Patton said brightly, gathering Virgil into a hug. 

Virgil hummed in agreement, disengaging and peering into Patton’s guileless blue eyes. But if Patton had a reason for needing to leave besides the excuse he’d given, there was no sign of it on his face.

Changeling and half-faery slipped on shoes and left, Logan brushing a chivalrous hand across Patton’s lower back as they exited. Patton shot Virgil one last smile and wave as the door closed behind them. 

Virgil exhaled slowly, his emotions pinging all over the place. He walked to Nic’s bed and knelt in the spot Logan had vacated, stroking the dog’s fur, being careful of the bandages. Neck to shoulder. Again. 

“You saw it, too?” Roman said softly behind him, dark eyes unusually solemn. 

Virgil saw dark, strong fingers against a baby blue polo shirt in his mind’s eye. Familiar thorns pressed across his breastbone. Niggling, question-shaped creeper vines in his mind. 

He was spiraling. 

He didn’t want to think about it.

“Help me with the dishes?” 

Roman’s scarlet ochre voice pressed against his chaotic thoughts, staining them a resigned, sickly green. 

Virgil gave Nic one last scratch, stood up, and went to grab a drying towel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eglantine:  
>  _i am wounded_


	22. Begonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton reveals a little backstory, and Virgil worries about many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Snow Cats" by AFI
> 
> Have you noticed the angsty downturn in our playlist lately? There might be a reason...

_i’ll wait for you another night_  
_as you like_  
_dressed in himalayan white_

They didn’t go out the next day, because Patton had to work.

The day after that, Patton also had to work.

The Patton Virgil had known in Arcadia was loyal to a fault, and always, _always_ there when you needed him. The Patton of today hadn’t changed much…except he consistently worked long, weird hours at the animal hospital, and constantly agreed to cover other people's shifts. His work got in the way of so many plans that even anti-social Virgil got a little fed up with it. 

It was why two whole weeks passed before Patton finally rolled into the apartment parking lot, driving the oldest, tiniest, brownest, _dullest_ Toyota Camry Virgil had ever laid eyes on. 

“Good lord, Patton,” Virgil said as he swung into the car, “what’s holding this rattletrap together? Faery magic?”

“Now, don’t you insult my Linda,” Patton retorted with a pout, patting the faded dashboard. “She may not look like much, but I’ll have you know she’s been my faithful girl for over three years.”

Virgil adjusted the threadbare seat. “Only _you_ would give this bucket of bolts a human name. It has a freaking tape deck! Does anyone under 50 even know what a cassette tape _is_?”

“It’s ok, Linda, he doesn’t mean a word of it,” Patton whispered conspiratorially, stroking the steering wheel. “Where are we going first?”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. He’d actually given a lot of thought to what his “next” hoodie would look like, even going so far as to browse Amazon for ideas.

“I actually, uh, had this idea,” he said. “But like, it’s a little out there, so…”

“Aw, come on, Virge,” Patton said, smiling. “It’s me.”

“Well, first I’ll need to go to Walmart or someplace and get a plain jacket to start with,” Virgil explained. “But after that, could we maybe go to Joanne’s? I know the nearest one is all the way in Sanford, but—”

Patton gasped and clapped his hands. “You’re going to make something! You were always so good at sewing.”

_Don’t remind me._

“Yeah.” Virgil rubbed his neck again. “I know it’s kind of a long drive, but—”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see it!” Patton gushed, throwing Linda in reverse and pulling out of the lot. “Walmart, here we come!”

Virgil spent the short drive brainstorming ways to bring up Patton’s past, but the other changeling kept up such an incessant chatter about various animals they’d treated at the hospital that week that he couldn’t get a word in hedgewise. So instead he listened, and catalogued all the little differences between current Patton and the boy he remembered from Arcadia.

This Patton was better fed, as Virgil was sure he himself was; a little soft around the edges, but in a healthy, sunshine and cotton balls kind of way. His voice was the same: cerulean tenor, gold excitement, slight burr. 

But this Patton squinted less, probably because he finally had the glasses Virgil was sure he’d needed all along. His hands and forearms were more defined, and he had more of a jawline than Virgil remembered, with a hint of ginger stubble on his freckled cheeks. It made him look noticeably older; although, to be far, it _had_ been years.

He was also huggably, boy-next-door attractive, Virgil realized with an uncomfortable jolt.

They reached the store and walked inside, Virgil feeling particularly naked in public without the comfort of sleeves and a hood. He hated his skinny arms and jutting elbows; he hated crowds; and he hated Walmart in particular. Unfortunately, he needed the cheapest option. Halloween had tapped heavily on what little he’d saved up, and Christmas break's week-long paycheck gap hadn't helped.

Virgil knew if he asked, Logan or even Roman might lend him the money. But considering why his last hoodie had been sacrificed, it would be a subzero day in Florida before he asked either of them for help replacing it.

He finally picked out something soft, black, and a form-swallowing size too big. 

“By the way, I think this Walmart has fabric and sewing stuff,” Patton pointed out, idly rearranging a nearby display of Winnie-the-Pooh plushies. 

“Good.” Virgil draped the hoodie over his elbow. “That would save you a drive.” 

He walked over and picked up a plushie, exchanging a sad smile with Patton. Their Hedgerow teacher had only ever had one children’s book; in a way, Pooh and his friends had taught them both to read.

“I don’t mind,” Patton said, holding up an Eeyore. “Oh, hey, Virgil, I didn’t know you were in this show.”

Virgil cackled and snatched the donkey away. 

“I will happily identify as a gloomy, depressed ass.” He pawed through the toys, collecting a Tigger. “Roman can be the looney cat with ADHD, and Logan…” He held up a Rabbit. 

Patton laughed and bit his lip. “Perfect!”

“So what would that make you, Padre?” Virgil asked as they left the display.

Patton rubbed a knuckle against his lips. 

“I think I’d be Pooh. Chubby, not too smart, but always does his best.” Some of that awful, smiley-sad resignation crept into his voice. “That’s all anyone can really ask for.”

They reached the fabric section, which was much bigger than Virgil had anticipated; maybe they wouldn’t need to drive all the way out to Sanford after all. He didn’t have a particular pattern or texture in mind, but he was sure he’d know "the one" when he saw it.

He also kept half an eye on Patton, who hovered quietly at his elbow. 

“Ok, I’m really bad at this, but you gotta tell me what’s going on with you,” Virgil blurted out at last, running a hand over a sky blue bolt of textured material. The color was bittersweetly reminiscent of Logan’s favorite tie, but the material wouldn’t do for what he had in mind.

“Well. After Arcadia…” Patton fingered a red bolt patterned in white begonias, his eyes far away behind his glasses, and chuckled. “It’s weird to say that in ordinary places like this, you know? It clashes with the florescent lights and white tile floors—”

“ _Patton_ ,” Virgil interrupted.

“Sorry.” 

Patton visibly swallowed. 

“After I was rescued by the Erie Grimms, they took me in and trained me. I think they wanted to push my magic until I could actually pacify a Fae; like, shut them down mid-attack, or something.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up. “Can you _do_ that?”

Patton shrugged, his eyes troubled. 

“I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. That chapter…they don’t hunt faeries like Smile does, but if they do catch one…”

He mumbled his next statement so softly Virgil had to lean close to hear.

“They…they wanted me to pacify the ones they caught, so they could execute them more easily.”

“Shit,” Virgil breathed, folding Patton into a hug. The other changeling trembled softly and looked like he badly needed it. “No wonder you left.”

“I can’t blame them,” Patton said, still shaking. “Every changeling and every changeling family copes differently. I wanted to stay, long enough to find you at least, but I just…couldn’t.”

“You aren’t a killer, Pat,” Virgil murmured. "That's nothing to be ashamed of."

Patton chuckled bitterly. 

“Sure didn’t feel like the right decision at the time. I was outright homeless for over a month, and I fell in with a local church group. When they found out about my living situation, they told the police.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and pulled down a bolt of purple polyester. It might do if he didn’t find anything better.

“They were just trying to help, Virge,” Patton scolded, hands on his hips. “But since I could hardly tell the truth about where I was from, I was put in the foster system. Bounced around from home to home for about a year, until a family from that same church offered to adopt me.”

“But that’s…good, right?” Virgil narrowed his eyes.

Patton pressed his lips together. 

“I mean, I was 16. Nobody wants to adopt a teenager. They were a stable, middle-class, two parent Christian home and they’d already adopted another teen, so I’d have a sibling around the same age. It was perfect.”

“Mmm,” Virgil said skeptically. “Sounds like advertising trollshit from an adoption catalogue.”

“Well, it…could be worse,” Patton hedged, fiddling with his cardigan sleeves. “We ended up leaving Pennsylvania and coming to Florida, but I always had a roof over my head and enough to eat. They paid for me to go to a good private Christian school for two years, paid for tutors to catch me up and help me graduate at 18. They helped me buy Linda so I could commute to veterinary school, although I had to take out a loan for tuition.” 

He shrugged. “Which I understand. They both work for the church; neither of them make much.” 

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “I’m sensing a big, fat ‘but’ in here somewhere.”

“It’s just…” Patton sighed, and bit his lip. “They’re kind of strict and old fashioned, you know? Gotta dress a certain way, go to church, smile, no complaining, curfews; that kind of thing. They always told me and my adopted brother…well, they would say _sister_ …that we should be grateful they rescued us from the ‘godless foster system’.”

The air quotes he put around those words, and the revelation that he had a brother who was at one point known as his sister, told Virgil everything he needed to know about Patton’s adopted ‘parents’. His mouth lifted in a sneer.

“It was…it was mostly okay until they discovered that Emile is a trans man,” Patton added, his expression dimming. “They got so mad. They shut down his social media, and for a few months they got real strict about what he could wear, who he could hang out with, what websites he could visit; that kind of thing. Went through his stuff, too.”

He shook his head. “And then when that didn’t ‘fix’ him, they started doing this thing where they’d ambush him at weird times to pray over him. Got a bunch of church people in on it. He finally couldn’t take it anymore and the moment he turned 18, he left.”

“Good for him,” Virgil said.

Patton shrugged. “My parents basically disowned him after that. I keep hoping one day they’ll come around, that they regret driving him away, but…I don’t know.” He sighed. “Meanwhile, I haven’t dared tell them I’m bisexual, let alone all the changeling mess.”

“Patton, you don’t…” Virgil frowned. “Do you still live with them? Like, right now?”

Patton chuckled weakly. “Well, I kind of didn’t have anywhere else to go after I finished school, you know? And they charge less rent than an apartment would, so I can save up—”

“Your own parents make you pay them rent?” Virgil repeated incredulously.

“Well, they don’t _make_ me, exactly…but I mean, it’s only fair since they’ve done so much, right? Besides, putting up with a super low rent and a curfew is better than being on the streets again.”

“You still have a _curfew_?” Virgil said, incredulous. “You’re what, 20-something now? You’re a fucking adult!” He paused, and shook his head. “Fuck. That’s why you left so early the other night, isn’t it?”

“They’re good people,” Patton insisted, refusing to meet Virgil’s glare. “They just…don’t always understand. They’re doing their best.”

Of course sweet, kindhearted Patton would make excuses for a pair of transphobic assholes. _‘Doing their best’, my ass,_ Virgil thought viciously. _I’ll bet they’ve gaslit and emotionally abused him for years._ But he’d never get Patton to admit it. 

He turned back to the rows of fabric to hide his sour expression.

“Virgil?” a familiar, mahogany and teakwood voice called from the end of the aisle. 

Virgil whirled to see Logan with a store basket on his arm, eyebrows raised in surprise. As always, the sight of the half-faery made his heart catch painfully. 

“Logan!” Patton gasped, waving and then pointing, rather unnecessarily, at himself. “It’s Patton!”

“I thought I sensed this.” Logan breezed close and lay fingertips on Virgil’s chest, where the bear amulet rested. Virgil’s breath stuttered.

“What are you two doing here?” Logan asked.

“Virgil’s making a new jacket!” Patton exclaimed.

Virgil exhaled and bit back a spike of annoyance. Besides Patton’s exuberance being downright _exhausting_ sometimes…he hadn’t wanted to tell Logan about the hoodie yet. Maybe he would have _after_ he’d finished the project, because what if it didn’t work out the way he envisioned it, or he messed it up, and since Logan knew he would have expectations _and I’ll disappoint him like I always do…plus, now he’s probably thinking about what happened to my_ last _hoodie…_

Oh…now they were both looking at him expectantly. Virgil huffed again, and reluctantly divulged what he planned to do. Logan unexpectedly offered to help them look for a pattern, a gesture which reduced Virgil to a bashful silent mess. 

For a few minutes Virgil devoted his whole attention to his search. He most certainly did _not_ notice the way Patton ate up all of Logan’s attention: by asking where Roman was (at home), how Logan’s day at work had been (fine), or why Logan had come all the way out to Walmart (Remy complained yesterday about being given raspberry Crofters instead of cream, which their regular grocery store had been out of). 

He refused to be jealous of Patton’s natural extroversion, or the reluctant but obvious way Logan responded to it. 

He gritted his teeth as Logan rolled his eyes at one of Patton’s puns.

He _refused._

“Oh, Logan, I think you’ve found it,” Patton murmured.

Virgil turned and he inhaled sharply. Logan smiled, a small, satisfied thing, and held out a multilayered purple plaid; simple, subtle, with just the right hint of dark edginess; like one of those Crayola crayon Halloween packs. He could already envision it on the finished jacket: cut into patches and stitched jaggedly in white, Nightmare Before Christmas style. Even better, it matched the plain purple Virgil had already picked out.

He took the roll from the half-faery, skin thrilling at the brush of fingers, and made a show of caressing the material and checking the price. Not that it mattered; he already knew he was buying this. 

“It suits you,” Logan said softly.

Patton, probably sensing the mood, for once let the two have their moment without squealing or bouncing with excitement. 

It took Virgil a moment to interpret Logan's soft eyes, the tone of voice, the pointed way he was watching him now. _I still care_ , that expression said. Virgil bit his lip and clutched the fabric to his chest, struggling and failing to find something to say.

“You know you have to let them cut it,” Logan added. “They won’t let you take the whole thing.”

“Oh yeah,” Virgil mumbled. “Uh, I knew that.” 

He irrationally considered buying the entire roll anyway, if only so no one else could ever wear this pattern. It was _his_ now, and his fingers itched to start sewing.

“Oh, shoot!” Patton said in dismay, looking at his phone.

“What is it, Patton?” Concern knitted Logan’s brow.

“I forgot, I agreed to cover a 4-10 shift today,” he explained. “And it’s already 3:30, and I still have to grab my scrubs from home. Plus I’ve got to drop Virgil off.”

“Hang on. You have work today and you were ready to drive me all the way out to Sanford?” Virgil demanded incredulously. “Come on, Pat. When was your last _actual_ day off?”

Patton flinched at his tone. Virgil immediately felt guilty; he hadn’t meant to sound mean. But even Logan frowned…and not at Virgil.

“How frequently do you cover your colleagues’ shifts, Patton?” the half-faery asked. 

“Oh, well, I try to be as helpful as I can,” Patton said with his patented megawatt smile, rocking back on his heels. “Good deeds never go unpunished and all that.”

Logan’s frown deepened. “I am almost certain that is not what that phrase means.”

After hearing about Patton’s adopted family and living situation, Virgil would bet Deceit’s stupid hat Patton was purposefully hoarding all the work hours he could, just to avoid that toxic house. 

_Or his colleagues know he’s too nice to say no_ , he added angrily, _and they take advantage._

“Patton, you cannot continue to cover shifts without regard for your personal wellbeing,” Logan went on in a stern voice. “It is an unhealthy mindset, and I fear you will eventually burn yourself out.”

“Aw, Logan, it’s sweet that you care,” Patton said, briefly leaning onto the half-faery’s shoulder. “But I don’t mind, really! I’m glad to help.”

_Like fuck you are_ , Virgil wanted to say, but he knew further protest would only upset Patton more. Logan, too, wore the pinched look of someone who could think of nothing constructive to say.

“Don’t worry about me, Pat; I can always walk back,” Virgil offered instead. “It’s not that far.”

“Nonsense, you will come back with me,” Logan said firmly. 

Virgil hid a smile; he had hoped Logan would offer a ride so he could avoid the awkwardness of asking. 

“That would help a lot,” Patton said with wide eyes, which he turned guiltily upon Virgil. “It’s awful of me to just abandon you, though. Are you sure—?”

“Go on, you useless changeling,” Virgil grumbled, good-naturedly shoving the other towards the exit. “Get your overworked ass out of here.” 

Patton wrinkled his nose. “Your language has gotten positively awful, mister.” But his smile took the sting out of the complaint. 

“See you tomorrow, Lolo?” he added, to which the half-faery nodded. 

Virgil frowned as Patton hustled toward the front of the store, cardigan flapping, and Logan started toward the cutting counter. 

Why was Patton seeing _Logan_ tomorrow?

They’d left the store and were halfway home before Virgil worked up the courage to bring it up.

“So… ‘Lolo’?” he started, and grinned when Logan’s face soured.

“If you _dare_ let that nickname slip to Roman,” he said sternly holding up a finger, “I will ask Remy to tie knots in your hair at night.”

Virgil was 99% sure Logan was joking, but ran a nervous hand through his bangs all the same. 

Logan sighed. “I only allow it because correcting Patton on the matter would be an exercise in futility.” He shook his head. “And I have no desire to cause him to make that…expression…he makes sometimes.”

“The kicked puppy face?” Virgil chuckled. 

“That is an accurate description, yes.”

“Same, honestly,” Virgil said, wrinkling his nose.

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

“So, what _are_ you and Patton doing tomorrow?” Virgil tried (and probably failed) to sound casual.

“Since it will be some time before Nic is ready to run again,” Logan said. “Patton has been accompanying me on my morning jogs. Tomorrow will be our third such outing.”

Virgil gaped. 

_You've been running with_ Patton _? The fuck?_

How was he only just now hearing about this?

_Maybe because it doesn’t involve you and it’s none of your business_ , Virgil’s inner voice supplied nastily. 

“Patton _exercises_?” he muttered.

To his surprise, Logan chuckled at this. 

“Well. He does not possess much stamina, at least not yet, but his enthusiasm is admirable. I have been taking him on trails behind the animal hospital, which I could not do with Nic, as he is prone to chasing squirrels.”

Virgil grimaced at the memory, folding his arms.

“It has been rather enjoyable to surround myself with nature in the mornings. And your friend, despite his…eccentricities, is surprisingly good company,” Logan added, lips turning up in a small smile that tugged painfully at Virgil’s heart. 

He turned away, his stomach churning.

_You had plenty of opportunities to join that part of Logan’s life_ , he reminded himself, _and you repeatedly turned him down. Not to mention it’s your fault Logan’s primary running partner is out of commission._

_You don’t get to resent Patton for stepping into a void_ you _created._

Besides, even if Logan were to ask again out of the blue, Virgil knew he’d still probably say no. It was _running_ …like, who did that for fun? 

He just hadn’t expected Logan to find someone _else_ , you know? 

And why hadn’t Patton mentioned it? He knew how Virgil felt; Virgil wanted to believe that meant something. 

_You’re probably overreacting, as usual_ , his brain reminded him. _It's not like it's a_ date _. And even if it was, Logan was never yours to claim, anyway._

The thought made him growl softly and run a hand over his face. 

He ignored Logan’s raised eyebrow, and stared out the window the rest of the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begonia:  
>  _caution, communication, dark thoughts_


	23. Cherry Blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil finishes a jacket and makes an awful discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "A Deep Slow Panic" by AFI
> 
> Be warned, there is discussion of transphobia in this chapter.

_slowly, it’s consuming me_  
_deliberate and deep_  
_i can’t take this deeper panic_

February crawled past, marked by Roman filling the fridge with homemade chocolates and Crofters jam tarts on Valentines Day, and Nicodemus graduating from his Cone of Shame. 

None of them saw hair, hat, or scale of Deceit.

Virgil, for his part, hoped the murderous faery had seen how well protected he was now, and had decided he wasn’t worth it. His cynical nature thought that unlikely, however. Some days he felt like he was actively holding his breath, on edge, anticipating the next disaster.

His room grew cluttered with paint-spattered canvases; his Tumblr blog overflowed with angsty, 3AM ramblings.

Roman dyed his faded hair tips a bright, fluorescent pink and began training in the evenings, practicing sword forms and Kung Fu in the courtyard while Logan took Nic on his evening walks. Against Logan's advice, Roman also started volunteering at the Athens Theater, both because he enjoyed acting and the stage, and to keep an eye on the Hedge gap. 

Logan put up faery wards around the apartment, but otherwise seemed content to wait and see what Deceit would do next. 

February ticked away into March, and one afternoon, Virgil came home from his Drawing 201 class to find Patton huddled on the sofa with Logan, their heads bent together. Both startled apart when he entered, as though he’d interrupted…something. 

Patton, sweet soul that he was, invited Virgil to join them, but Virgil claimed to have homework and disappeared into his room. 

He told himself not to jump to irrational conclusions. 

Thorns pinched his chest anyway. 

(Later, Virgil would wonder if he should have stayed, that first time. If it would have changed anything.)

Meanwhile, between classes and his job, Virgil worked steadily on his jacket. Hand sewing was time consuming, but the project scratched an itch inside that Deceit had unknowingly awoken: a need to see something grow and change and _become_ , with his own hands. He also loved having excuses to handle (caress) Logan’s plaid, which happened to be deliciously soft to the touch.

Which was why a mid-March Saturday found him spread out on the living room sofa when nobody else was home, cutting out the hood lining. He huffed, annoyed, when a knock at the door interrupted him.

Logan and Roman both had keys. There was only one person it could be.

Well, two. 

But Deceit probably wouldn’t knock.

“Hey, Patton,” Virgil said as he opened the door. “If you’re looking for the others, Logan took Nic to the vet today and Roman—”

“I came to see you.”

Patton ran a hand through curls that seemed extra fluffy, as though he’d been mussing them a lot. Raising an eyebrow, Virgil let him in.

“You’ve made a lot of progress on this,” Patton commented as he moved the hoodie and the pile of purple lining fabric from the couch into his lap so he could sit. 

Again, Virgil could have confessed to Patton why he was _so good_ at this kind of work. Instead he grabbed the jacket, stood, and slipped it on. 

He’d finished sewing the last patch on last night and even his critical, self-deprecating ass had to admit, it looked pretty wicked good. Patton turned Virgil around by the shoulders, looking at every side. 

“I would never have thought to see you wearing plaid,” Patton said, brushing delicate fingers over the largest patch, along Virgil’s torso. “But Logan was right. This pattern is somehow perfectly _you_.”

Virgil’s ego drank in the praise, but his heart stung at the soft affection in Patton’s voice. 

There was no denying it anymore. He knew…he just _knew_ …assuming Patton hadn’t harbored feelings for the half-faery this whole time, he certainly did now. All the time they’d spent together, the morning runs, the talks on the couch… _of course_ Patton would fall. 

Virgil’s fists clenched and he was thankful for the new sleeves for hiding them.

“Yeah,” he agreed gruffly.

_You promised me, Patton. You knew my feelings._

He shucked the jacket and sat down, not daring to look at his friend until he’d gotten his face under control. 

“What’s left to do?” Patton asked, seemingly unaware of Virgil’s inner turmoil.

Virgil spread the jacket’s hood across his lap, inside facing up, and laid the lining on top.

“I'll sew this piece into the hood,” he explained, grabbing his box of pins from the table. “Using something called a slip stitch, so the seam will be invisible once I’m done.” He folded a hem along the lining’s edge and started to pin it inside the hood. 

“You want some coffee or something?” he added.

“Actually, yeah,” Patton murmured.

Virgil waved him into the kitchen. Patton visited so often that he knew where pretty much everything was, and Virgil didn’t think Logan would mind them using the Keurig while he was out.

He’d finished pinning the lining in place by the time Patton returned with two mugs: hazelnut coffee for Virgil and some mocha blend for himself. Virgil set his drink on the table to cool and threaded a needle, eyeing his friend. 

Patton’s whole demeanor was unusually somber.

“All right, what’s up, Padre?” Virgil said as Patton nearly scalded his tongue on hot coffee. The sunny changeling coughed, and took a breath. And another.

“So Emile came to visit last month,” he blurted out.

Virgil blinked. 

“Your brother? The one your parents…?”

Patton nodded, his mouth a small, unhappy line.

“Shit,” Virgil said. 

He realized he’d been bracing to hear something about Patton and Logan…had been _dreading_ it, in fact. Inexplicable relief washed through him, followed by guilt.

“Well,” Patton said with a breathy laugh, rubbing his face. “My parents beg him to come home every time he calls—”

“He still _calls_?” Virgil grumbled. 

Patton shrugged this off, looking guilty. 

“He, uh…well, he calls _me_. Anyway, he’s been doing well: got a degree in therapy, opened his own practice, got approved to go on T and get top surgery. And I…I may have…” Patton sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “I convinced him to come home, just to visit. I guess I hoped…no, I was _so sure_ they’d see how happy and well adjusted he was and…and reconsider.”

“I’m guessing they did not,” Virgil said dryly, sipping his coffee. 

“They…” Patton started in a tiny voice, looking away. “It was awful, Virge. The moment he showed up, they started in with all the anti-trans conspiracy theories, asked what they did wrong that he keeps ‘taking drugs and mutilating herself’. Then they got upset with me when I refused to use his deadname and kept using the correct pronouns. He left in a fury and this time…I don’t think he’ll be back and he hasn’t called me since and it’s _all my fault_.”

Virgil pushed his nearly-forgotten needle into another stitch, keeping his mouth shut.

“And ever since he left, they’ve been on my case twice as hard. Checking my phone, wanting to know if there are any other ‘deviants’ in my social circle, if I have any ‘sinful feelings’ I need to discuss with our pastor.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“For fuck’s sake, Patton, why do you _stay_ there? You need to get out. ”

Patton twisted his hands in his lap and smiled weakly. 

“That’s what Logan says. I’ve actually been talking about it a lot with him. He’s such a blessing.” That small, soft smile appeared again, the one that broke Virgil’s heart. “He’s a good listener and he’s really smart.”

Virgil forced a noise of agreement and accidentally jabbed himself with the ivory needle. He took a drink of lukewarm coffee to hide the slip.

“Say, Virgil,” Patton said after a moment, biting his lip. “You don’t…mind, do you? That I’ve kinda been monopolizing Logan’s time with this lately? I know you two are pretty close friends.”

_Friends._

How in the seven Arcadian hells was Virgil supposed to answer that question? 

_“Actually, Patton, you going on romantic morning runs and having long talks with my crush, after implying you weren’t gonna compete with me makes me feel really fucking betrayed and insecure, so could you maybe knock it off?”_

Virgil wasn’t selfish enough to admit that aloud, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie, either. He settled for an indifferent shrug. 

They were interrupted by a key in the lock.

“Uh-oh, here comes the noblest Roman of them all!” Roman sang as he threw open the front door, a dozen grocery bags dangling precariously from his arms (Roman didn’t believe in second trips), and threw Virgil an extravagant wink. “What up, plebes? Oh hey, Patton.”

He toed the door shut, sauntered to the kitchen, and, predictably, began singing as he put the food away. Patton giggled softly and Virgil rolled his eyes as he recognized Seize the Day from Newsies, one of Roman’s favorites. He startled when Patton elbowed him in the side.

“Have you told him yet?” he asked in a low voice. 

Virgil frowned. “Who, Roman? Told him what?”

“ _You_ know.” 

Patton waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

“I…really don’t,” Virgil muttered, side-eyeing his friend.

Patton rolled his eyes and sighed. 

“He obviously _adores_ you, Virge,” he said, still too low for Roman to hear. “You should just tell him how you feel. I think you two would be really cute together.”

_Wait…what?_

Virgil slowly set down his needle, a horrible realization spreading through him.

“Me and…Roman?” he sputtered.

Patton nodded, his curls bobbing. 

“Mmmhmm, your Mr. Handsome.”

Virgil resisted the urge to put his face in his hands, but only barely. _Holy trollshit. He thinks_ Roman _is my crush. All this time…_

Come to think of it, despite the two originally hitting it off like a pair of hyperactive puppies, Patton and Roman had probably spent the least amount of time one-on-one together. Had that been purposeful on Patton’s part?

And Roman…well.

Roman tended to be pulled into Virgil’s orbit whenever they were all together. _Of course_ that would lead Patton to the wrong conclusion, would push him pursue a closer friendship with the single guy.

Logan. 

Virgil wanted to scream. His fingers bunched into the hoodie still on his lap. 

“It’s not…Patton…I…”

“Now, you know your secret’s always safe with me.” Patton chuckled. “I’m just saying, if you ever need a wingman—”

“Faery balls, Patton, can we _please_ talk about something else?”

“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” Roman crooned as he plopped onto the couch with a grin, nearly dislodging Virgil’s pin box. “What’s got Emo Nightmare’s panties in a twist?”

Virgil seriously considered stabbing him with a needle.

“Oh hey Roman, we were just talking about something else!” Patton chirped, supremely unhelpfully. Roman’s eyes narrowed.

“Um…what?”

“Yo, what?” Patton repeated, megawatt grin flashing. “Nothing else. There’s nothing else. Uh…we were just talking about something—”

Virgil tried desperately to signal Patton to _shut the hell up_ , but as usual, Patton simply could not take a hint.

“—and never anything else.”

Patton shot him a subtle thumbs up, which made Virgil shake his head and pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Roman’s red-ringed eyes flashed between the two of them.

“Wait, are you two seriously not going to let me in on what’s going on here?” he demanded. 

Virgil cleared his throat and deliberately went back to sewing.

“So Roman, Logan was taking Nic in for a checkup today, right?” Patton asked, gulping down the last of his (probably cold) coffee. 

Roman’s mouth twisted, like he knew he was being distracted, but he allowed the change in conversation. Virgil tuned them both out as he worked on the last of hood lining stitches. 

_"I think you two would be really cute together."_

Through the lining, run a little string along the inside, through the hood material, run a little string, and back. 

_Roman would like that_ , his brain whispered viciously. 

Jab, run the needle, jab, pull the thread through.

 _And even if Logan has forgiven you for nearly killing his dog_ , the inner voice added. _Why would he ever look at you when he could have a literal ball of sunshine instead?_

_"I know you two are pretty close friends."_

Were they even _that_ anymore?

He breathed through the prickly heaviness in his chest, let it sink into his fingers so they wouldn’t shake…not enough to sprout flowers, but just enough to feel a slight warmth passing from white ivory to cloth.

Patton’s and Roman’s discussion bounced chaotically from dogs, to Roman’s training, to swords (with a brief detour into Disney and whether or not Excalibur had been pulled from an actual stone or an anvil), to a particular movie from 2005 Patton had recently made them all watch…at which point Virgil found himself pulled in again.

“You know what I never got about that movie?” he asked, trying off the last knot. 

“Why it won best chick flick?” Roman scoffed. “I love _Just Like Heaven_ and I’m not a chick.”

Virgil sneered at that.

“No, how is she a ghost if she’s not dead? Like, was she astral projecting or something?”

“Or, maybe she was having an out of body experience?” Patton offered.

Another key turned, and Virgil’s gaze whipped towards the front door.

“I thought astral projecting _was_ an out of body experience…Logan!” Roman exclaimed as the half-faery entered, Nicodemus on his heels. “Does astral projecting count as an out of body experience?”

“It is a subcategory of such, I believe.” Logan, unfazed by the odd question, dumped his keys on the counter and unsnapped Nic’s leash from his collar. “Astral projection assumes the existence of a soul or consciousness that is separate from the physical body and capable of traveling throughout the universe.”

“Ha!” Roman pumped his fist as though he’d won a point.

“You do realize that nobody was disagreeing with you, right?” Virgil pointed out, eyeing the other changeling and grunting when Nic tried to climb into his lap. He would never understand why that dog still liked him, and always felt a stab of guilt over it.

Roman stuck out his tongue.

“What are we talking about?” Logan asked, adjusting his glasses and glancing among all of them.

“2005’s Just Like Heaven starring Mark Ruffalo and Reese Witherspoon?” Patton said with a slow shrug. 

Logan made a face remarkably similar to the flat-mouthed, flat-eyed emoji.

“Hey so, I’ve…got something to show you all,” Virgil said, suddenly nervous, which increased a thousandfold when Logan fixed his intense gaze on him. 

He stood, gripping the finished hoodie and running a thumb over one of the patches. The soft texture grounded him.

“But before I do, I should probably confess…” 

He slipped the hoodie on with as much flair as his shaky limbs would allow, and held up both arms so they could all admire it. 

“I really dig this purple you picked out.”

It was the first time he’d let any of them, besides Patton, see what he’d been working on. Logan’s eyes glinted behind his glasses as he touched the lapels, running a finger over the shoulder stitching.

“That design,” he murmured.

“Get on his level,” Roman crowed from the sofa.

Patton simply clapped in delight, but then again, he’d already seen most of it.

“Well, I will say this,” Logan said, backing up and touching his chin thoughtfully. “That is…a jacket.”

Virgil _burned_.

“That is magnificent…” Roman had also stood up, and walked around the coffee table. Virgil fought a small smile, pleased that even Roman could find something nice to say…

“…how you’ve managed to become even angstier.”

_Aaaand, Princey ruined it._

Virgil sighed, and hunched, folding his arms.

“No, no, no, if that’s what you want to…er, rock,” Roman sputtered, probably realizing how he’d sounded and backtracking. “Then you rock it, sir!”

“I think this calls for a celebration,” Patton announced. “Who wants Greek?”

“Santorini’s?” Roman gasped.

“Satisfactory,” Logan said with a nod.

“Sure,” Virgil said when they all looked at him. 

“Good one! Alliteration station!” Patton crowed, pointing finger guns at him.

“What, no, I mean…gah.” Virgil mockingly threw up his hands. “I mean, we all know Roman can’t make a good tzatziki sauce to save his life, so we might as well go out.”

Roman gasped in mock insult, touching his chest. 

“Oh ye of little faith! It wouldn’t be fair of me to put _all_ the local restaurants out of business, now would it?”

Virgil laughed, the first belly laugh he’d let out in weeks, and it felt good. Roman and then Patton joined in, and even Logan smiled.

“You keep telling yourself that, Princey,” Virgil chuckled, nudging him as they crowded out the door. 

His hands fit comfortably in his new hoodie’s pockets as they clattered downstairs and crossed from the parking lot to the main road. The hot Florida afternoon sun beat down on his shoulders and the usual DeLand traffic whipped past, earning a few swears from Roman. 

“Oh, hey, Logan, maybe you can settle this,” Patton said as they walked. “Was Excalibur pulled from a stone or an anvil?”

“For heaven’s sake, Patton, enough about Excalibur!” Virgil moaned.

“We need to know if Disney was faithful to the original source material or not!” Roman exclaimed.

“Actually, Patton, the real story of Excalibur is quite fascinating—”

Virgil felt an overwhelming fondness wash through him in that moment. 

The four of them, right now…this bickering, eccentric little family, and the ephemeral contentment that came with it…Virgil knew it couldn’t last. There were too many secrets, too much baggage, too many _feelings_ between them all for it to possibly last. 

Knowing couldn't keep his sore heart from wishing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cherry blossom:  
>  _transience_


	24. Dahlia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denial works...until it doesn't anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "All of Nothing" by The Birthday Massacre

_i was looking for an ending when i fell into you_  
_you were like a dream, cause you never came true_

“You’re _what_?” Virgil exclaimed, spoon clattering onto the table.

“He’s _what_?” Logan snapped at the same time.

Roman sighed. “I’m sorry.”

The four of them had just finished a quiet dinner together when Roman had dropped his bombshell. The lion-haired changeling stirred dregs of homemade chowder in his bowl, head hung low and unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes. 

Logan’s mouth pressed in a thin line.

Patton looked ready to burst into tears. 

“But…you can’t just _leave_!” Virgil hated that his voice cracked. “When did this happen?”

“Kate called this afternoon,” Roman explained, still fiddling with his spoon. “They spotted Deceit near Philadelphia. He’s got a reputation; they would recognize him.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Logan slapped an annoyed hand on the table, making them all wince. “Deceit remained here in DeLand after the attack; I am certain of it. There have been constant attacks on the apartment wards—”

“Wait, what?” Roman cut in, dark eyes growing wide.

“Arcadian _hells_ , Logan,” Virgil added, staring at the half-faery.

Patton just watched, his face pale.

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and replacing his glasses. 

“I did not want to worry you. The attacks were insufficient against my magic and I do not think they were propagated by Deceit himself. The only direct threat we’ve had was—”

“The break-in, at the end of March,” Virgil finished. “That was only like two weeks ago.”

They all looked at each other, remembering. Virgil had gotten a frantic voicemail from Roman during class one afternoon, warning him to stay put, preferably somewhere crowded. When Logan finally picked him up and brought him back to the apartment, he’d been shocked to find it in disarray: books pulled out from their shelves, couch cushions scattered, drawers opened and papers everywhere. 

Nothing stolen…nothing obvious, anyway. Logan had even checked the false drawer, finding the Accords undisturbed. He swore up and down that nothing fae had crossed his wards that day, so they weren’t even sure it _was_ Deceit, and they certainly didn’t know what the intruder had been looking for.

_Or whom_ , Virgil silently added.

“Why would he retreat back north? Philadelphia is close to where…” Logan stopped, and visibly regained control of his face. “Has your murder found any new information on Rapunzel?”

“I don’t know, Logan.” Roman shook his head. “But I have to think if they did, Kate would have said so.”

A tense silence fell.

“Well, on the bright side,” Patton offered with a weak smile. “Maybe that means Deceit’s not looking for us anymore, Virgil. If he’s all the way back up in Pennsylvania.”

“When do you leave?” Logan asked Roman crisply.

“They booked me a flight in three days.” Roman lifted his head to look at all of them. “You could come too, you know? All of you. Kate…she reckons we could lay a trap for Deceit; a proper one, this time. We could use all the help we can get.”

_We._

Like Roman had been solely Smile’s all along.

Like he’d never really been part of _this_ weird little family at all.

_But isn’t that what I wanted?_ Virgil asked himself, wondering why it bothered him.

“I seem to remember your initial reaction to me, the first time we met,” Logan said in a dry voice. “My existence has been kept from all but a select few in Smile for good reason.” He adjusted his glasses. “I do not think it wise for me to go.”

“I’ve got a life here, kiddo,” Patton said apologetically when Roman looked at him. “I can’t just disappear.”

“Virgil?” Roman asked with feigned casualness, but the eagerness in his eyes gave him away. With a pang, Virgil knew his was the only answer Roman was truly invested in.

“I’ve…got classes, still,” he said, rubbing his neck. “And my job, and…”

He didn’t look at Logan.

Roman didn’t look at Logan. 

But they both knew the real reason Virgil wouldn’t leave. 

Several complicated expressions flitted over Roman’s face, but in the end, he settled on bravado.

“Well, there is still time, if any of you change your minds,” he said with a sharp, humorless smile, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go train.”

He didn’t slam the door as he left, sheathed sword over his shoulder, but the idea of it was there in the motion.

“I probably should head on home,” Patton said softly after a moment.

Logan nodded and began gathering their dishes. “And I need to take Nic on his evening walk soon. Virgil, would you like to accompany us tonight?”

Virgil froze halfway out of his chair, nearly dropping his bowl. 

“Wha…really?”

Logan hadn’t invited him on a walk since Nic had gotten injured. The dog had been well enough to resume normal activities for a couple weeks now, but Virgil hadn’t dared to follow when Logan took Nic out at night. He’d been sure Logan would never allow him to care for Nic in any capacity ever again, after fucking it up so spectacularly.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammered when he realized Logan was waiting for an answer. “I’d…I’d like that.”

“Excellent.” Logan smiled, and Virgil’s heart soared. 

He raced into his room to grab his phone, trying to contain his excitement. It had been ages since he’d spent any real time with Logan, _just_ Logan. He ran hands through his messy bangs and thought about reapplying his patchouli oil, then decided he was being ridiculous. 

Virgil reentered the living room and stopped dead in his tracks.

Logan and Patton stood by the front door, talking in low voices. As Virgil watched, Logan ran a knuckle along Patton’s jaw…Patton tilted his face up expectantly…and Logan planted a soft, sweet kiss on his lips. 

Then another, slightly longer one. 

Then Patton slipped out and Logan closed the door behind him.

If Deceit had planted one of his massive claws in Virgil’s chest at that moment, the red, numbing shock would have rendered him equally as immobile.

“Are you ready to go?” Logan asked him, patting his leg for Nic, like everything was perfectly normal.

Like he hadn’t just shattered Virgil’s entire world. 

“Virgil?”

Brows knitted, Logan crossed the room and laid a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. A second, smaller shock hit his body at the touch, and he unconsciously jerked away.

“How…?” Virgil forced out, and cleared his throat. His chest had gone weird and tight; once the initial impact had faded, this was going to hurt like a bitch. “How long has that been going on?”

“That?” Logan echoed, looking so honestly puzzled that Virgil wanted to hit something.

“That!” Virgil gestured frantically to the door. “You and…Patton.”

“Ah.” Logan’s frown deepened and he adjusted his glasses. “Well. We’ve had to be cautious due to his family situation, but Patton and I have been, as they say, ‘seeing each other’ for several weeks now.”

Virgil’s fists were knots inside his hoodie sleeves, each word like another tiny knife in the heart. 

_Weeks?_ They’d been dating for _weeks_?

“And neither of you thought to, I dunno, say anything to me?” he grated.

Logan blinked. 

“I assumed you knew,” he said, still in that infuriatingly calm voice. “I am quite sure Roman knows. We have not been exactly subtle around either of you.”

_Roman_ fucking knew?

_Of course he does_. 

Because they _hadn’t_ been subtle at all, had they? Sure, Patton was an innocent little bean and Logan was reserved as fuck, but the looks, the little touches, the way they always gravitated toward each other… _of course_ they were together. Virgil had just been trying so _stubbornly hard_ to pretend the proverbial troll in the room wasn't exactly what it appeared to be. 

Until he’d had his eyes pried open.

“My apologies, Virgil,” Logan added, smiling softly. “It was not my intent to conceal anything from you; I know that he is your friend first. In the future I will not make assumptions.”

He was still touching Virgil’s shoulder, fingers almost blending into the black and the purple plaid except Virgil could _feel_ them there, _burning_. He drew in a shuddering breath. 

He wouldn’t last five minutes alone with Logan right now, let alone an entire walk. 

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” Virgil said, forcing a nonchalant chuckle. “Um, but I might have to take a raincheck on walking tonight. I think something in Roman’s chowder is kinda disagreeing with me.”

Logan looked a little disappointed, but not nearly enough, and he nodded. 

“Of course. Perhaps laying down and drinking some water would help?”

The genuine concern in Logan’s voice almost broke Virgil all over again. He backed away, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Yeah…I’ll try that.” He could _feel_ the warm, sticky thorns twining up the inside of his breastbone. “You guys go on.”

Thankfully, Logan collected Nic and the two left. 

Silence fell over the apartment. 

Virgil found himself in the kitchen, dragged a glass from the cabinet but didn’t fill it. His mind replayed the kiss, over and over again, pink lips against dark. Habit had him running fingers over the patch on his left sleeve, but instead of grounding him, the softness sent little frissons of pain through his chest. 

It was the casual, perfunctory nature of it that really hurt. 

Like kissing was just a thing they did now. 

Virgil clearly remembered Christmas the year before, and Logan confessing that he’d never even been on a date. 

He gritted his teeth, remembering, _wishing_ , he’d get to be that first date. 

That first kiss. 

Too late, now.

_You were here first_ , his mind whispered. _And Patton still beat you. He gets all the firsts, and you aren’t even enough of a_ friend _anymore for Logan to tell you about them._

Virgil didn’t register throwing the glass until it shattered against the kitchen linoleum, scattering shards and bits of black dahlia petals. 

_You never deserved him._

His power had run plant stems straight through the glass. 

_And now you’ve lost him._

A cough ripped from his throat and had him hunching over the countertop, gripping his patterned sleeves. The pattern Logan had thought suited him. 

Had they already kissed when Logan picked it out? 

The notion had him ripping the jacket from his body and flinging it away, but he still couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_ …

Virgil stumbled across the apartment and hit the guest toilet in time to retch, pain lancing through his torso. He coughed, and coughed, slimy silk crawling up his throat and spilling from his mouth. When he could finally stop, and suck down a raspy breath, and his vision cleared, he looked into the toilet and his stomach clenched again. 

Blood and bile were mixed with what could only be large, silky yellow rose petals, dozens of them. 

_Yellow roses_ , his mind supplied. _Jealousy. Betrayal. Undying love. A broken heart._ He closed his eyes, fumbling for the toilet handle. 

“Somehow I don’t think my cooking is causing this,” a scarlet ochre voice said softly from the bathroom entrance. 

Virgil jerked his head up to find Roman watching him, Remy at his heels. He hadn't even heard the front door. Whatever his expression looked like caused Roman’s face to pale. 

“Bloody _hell_ , Virgil,” he breathed, peeling himself away from the doorjamb. Remy held back, choosing to lean against counter. 

Virgil huddled against the wall with a growl. 

Roman spared the toilet’s contents a glance, shuddered hard, and flushed it with a snap of his wrist.

“For fuck’s sake, why is your foot bleeding?” he demanded.

Come to think of it, Virgil’s foot did feel weirdly warm and achy. He winced when Roman found a slender sliver of glass lodged in the heel, the sock soaked red. 

“Dropped a glass,” Virgil rasped, “in the kitchen.” 

Faery balls, was that his _voice_? 

Remy rolled his beady eyes and marched out, probably to go clean up the mess. _Brownie priorities._

Bracing himself, Virgil got a grip on the shard and yanked it out, tossing it and the sock into the trash can.

Roman rubbed his face again. 

“Logan said you weren’t feeling well, but I thought…for _fuck’s_ sake!” he exclaimed as Virgil thrust him aside to cough into the toilet again. Hearing Logan’s name had triggered a burst of pain so intense his whole body shook from it. More petals, more hacking. His throat and nose burned with metallic bile. 

“Virgil, what, from the bottom of my heart,” Roman said, grabbing Virgil’s shoulders and forcing him to meet his dark eyed gaze, “the _actual_ fuck?”

“This is my curse, Princey.” Virgil laughed, his body shaking with pain. He still tasted bitter green behind his teeth and spat into the toilet; a single petal unfurled in the nasty water, yellow and mocking. 

“This is what my power does to me when I fall in love. It’s no more than I fucking deserve.”

“And you call me a drama queen.” Roman looked at the ceiling, as if for guidance. 

“Fuck off!” Virgil shouted.

Roman’s jaw worked. 

“Fine. I’m going to help Remy clean up whatever mess you made in the kitchen. You’re going to get up, wipe the fucking blood off your mouth,” he grabbed a washrag from the basket and flung it at Virgil’s chest, “and get your _fucking_ shit together. I’m guessing we have about five minutes before you know who gets back with Nic.”

Roman stalked out of the bathroom, slapping the vent on as he went. It _did_ smell horribly like bile in there. 

Virgil hurled the rag into the shower, reconsidered, retrieved it, and hauled himself to the bathroom mirror. _Pixie balls_. His eyes were bloodshot, eyeshadow smeared black across both cheeks…had he cried?…and his lips and teeth were stained a stomach-turning shade of red. No wonder he’d given Roman a scare.

He scrubbed his face, and rinsed out his mouth, listening to the tinkle of broken glass from the kitchen, Roman’s quiet cursing, the thump of the garbage lid. 

Virgil couldn’t blame him for being angry. 

“Out!” Remy snapped, hustling back into the bathroom. He dug out a box of bandaids and tossed them at Virgil. “And mind ye don’t bleed on the carpet.”

Weirdly, Remy’s usual gruff manner was reassuring. At least brownies didn’t change. Virgil hopped awkwardly across the hall to his room and slammed the door for good measure. 

Not five seconds later, Virgil heard the front door open and Nic’s bark of greeting. 

He leaned against his door and listened to Roman explain that Virgil still wasn’t feeling well and had decided to go to bed. He wrapped his naked arms more tightly around himself, registering the fact that they were, in fact, naked.

_I left my hoodie in there, didn’t I?_

Well, he wasn’t about to go get it now. 

His body felt wrung out and sore; his throat stung like he’d drug it through a bramble bush. After taking care of his bleeding heel, he threw himself onto his bed, shivering. He considered painting…but couldn’t bring himself to move. 

He knew he should sleep.

He’d probably never sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black dahlia:  
>  _betrayal_


	25. Hellebore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath. Virgil makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "The Misery" by Sonata Arctica
> 
> This chapter and the next are quite short, so today you get two chapters instead of one. October surprise? Perhaps...
> 
> Enjoy!

_if you fall, i’ll catch_  
_if you love, i’ll love_  
_and so it goes, my dear_

Roman came in sometime later without knocking, juggling a bottle of acetaminophen, a glass of water, and Virgil’s hoodie draped over his arm. 

Virgil pulled out his earbuds and accepted the pills, unwilling to meet Roman’s gaze. 

He didn’t want to face the pity.

“What triggered this one?” Roman asked quietly, hanging the hoodie on Virgil’s bedpost and sitting down.

Virgil raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“Oh, come on.” Roman rolled his eyes. “You haven’t had an attack like that since before all the shit with Deceit went down. In fact, I’ll wager you’ve _never_ had an attack that bad before.”

He was right. Things had been going so well; Virgil’d had his best friend back, he’d been slowly patching things up with Logan, Deceit had been relegated to a distant threat, he’d been almost fucking _happy_ …

So long as he could just _pretend_ …

 _Logan has seemed happier, too, lately_ , his mind whispered. _Now you know why._

“Did you know?” he challenged. “Did you know they were dating?”

Roman bit his lip, eyes flickering away, which told Virgil everything he needed to know. 

“I knew this would happen,” Roman said, running hands through his pink-tipped mane, making it stick up. “I knew you hadn’t put it together. Forgive me for not wanting to be the one to fucking break it to you.”

Virgil sighed, and finished his water.

“Did Lo…did he finally tell you?” Roman stuttered over Logan’s name, eliciting a bitter chuckle out of Virgil.

“You can say his name, Princey,” he muttered.

“Well, forgive my concern; the last time I said it you nearly hacked your lungs out.” 

They were silent for a moment, Virgil fiddling with his earbuds and Roman swinging his legs.

“I saw them kissing,” Virgil admitted in a small voice, biting back the stab of pain.

Roman swore fluently in Faery. “ _That careless fucking bastard_ ,” he said in the same tongue.

Virgil growled, and looked down at his lap. 

“Gods. How am I supposed to go up north knowing that this,” Roman gestured again, “has become a damned issue again? I…care about you, damn it.” 

He exhaled, shakily, and dropped his arm. “I can’t leave you like this.”

Virgil huffed, touched despite himself. “Princey, I am not a maiden in need of defending—”

“Don’t you dare quote Hamilton at me right now,” Roman grumbled, holding up a finger.

“I just got surprised tonight, that’s all,” Virgil said. “I'm not a child; I can handle my feelings. I’ll be _fine_.”

Roman rose and paced around the room, and as much as Virgil wished the other changeling would just _leave him alone_ …he did appreciate Roman's concern. The other changeling really was a decent person at his core, especially at times like this when he had every opportunity to be awful, and chose instead to be kind. 

“Come to Philadelphia with me,” Roman said firmly, depositing himself in Virgil’s desk chair.

Virgil looked away. 

“I told you. I have classes.”

“Do you really care about getting a degree?” Roman pressed. “And don’t cite your job as a reason, either; we both know you could find another like it anywhere you went.”

“What would I even do up there?” Virgil argued. “And why would I want to move myself _closer_ to Deceit, when the whole point of my being in Florida was to keep _away_ from him?”

Roman pressed his lips together; Virgil could tell he hadn’t considered that.

“My power is useless,” Virgil added. “I’m here is so that Logan can protect me, and you heard him earlier: he won’t leave. I’d be defenseless up there.”

“Smile would protect you.” Roman leaned forward, his gaze intent. “Heck, Smile could teach you to protect yourself.”

Virgil scoffed.

“No, seriously,” Roman protested. “We aren’t Grimms. Powers don’t matter to us. Ordinary humans join murders all the time, and they make fine hunters.”

 _Fetch-making powers might matter_ , Virgil couldn’t help but think.

But for a moment, he let himself imagine it. Leaving DeLand, learning some kickass martial arts, maybe even finally ridding himself of Deceit’s looming shadow.

“Why is he _in_ Philadelphia, anyway?” Virgil muttered. “Logan’s right; it doesn’t make any sense. He knows where I am, unless…” He swallowed. “Unless he was never really after me at all.”

Roman frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s just…something Logan said, months ago.” Virgil picked at his black nail polish. “He said he’d been looking for Deceit since his mom disappeared, and he thinks whatever Deceit’s eventual goals are, they’re bigger than we know. What if getting me back was just phase one of a larger plan, or a side quest or something?”

“Of all the cities in Florida,” Virgil went on, his voice growing stronger, “he targeted DeLand, where Logan lives.”

“I thought he followed _you_ here.” Roman rolled the chair closer, leaning his forearms on the bed near Virgil’s crossed legs. 

“But why _am_ I here, Roman?” Virgil asked. “I would have never come if Deceit hadn't shown himself to me at that Ren Faire in Ohio. I’m here because _Logan_ asked the Youngstown Grimms to send me. We know Deceit’s always ten steps ahead of everyone else and Logan just _happens_ to have the Grimm copy of the Accords,” his eyes widened, “which Deceit might suspect, if he really does have Rapunzel. What if…what if he just wanted all his targets in one place?”

“But he didn’t find them,” Roman pointed out. “The Accords are still here.”

“He could have missed them; we aren't even sure it was him who broke in, or someone he sent. So, failing to find what he was looking for, why would he go north again?” Virgil huffed. “To _Philadelphia_ , of all places...which has no connection to any of this mess except _you_?”

“Me?” Roman echoed. 

“Maybe you pissed him off so bad when you fought him that he’s out for some kind of revenge?” Virgil suggested, then paled. “Shit, do you need to warn Kate or—?”

“Relax, Panic at the Everywhere.” Roman patted Virgil’s knee. “I’ll update her tonight, but my murder can take care of themselves.” He looked away. “They could protect you. I could protect you.”

_I could protect you just as well as Logan, if you’d let me._

Virgil heard the unspoken words loud and clear. Who knew, maybe Roman was right. Maybe Virgil should go to Philly, put himself back in Deceit’s way and just…accept what would happen. He’d been Logan’s burden for so long, maybe it was time for someone else to take a turn.

Because Seelie Queens forbid that Virgil should ever be able to take care of himself; not while Deceit lived. 

And say he did go to Philly with Roman and his murder did manage to set a successful trap for Deceit, then what? Having finally proved his worth, would Virgil march triumphantly back to Florida and win Logan’s affection at long last?

 _Maybe in some fucking ridiculous fantasy_ , he thought bitterly.

No…if he left with Roman now, he doubted he’d ever be back. And the thought of leaving Logan behind, possibly forever, tore at his already aching heart.

“I can’t,” he said in a low voice, “for the same reason you want me to so badly.”

Roman’s jaw clenched. Virgil knew he’d hit a nerve. 

“All I know is that, if you stay,” he said, daring to meet Virgil’s eyes. “He’s gonna keep tearing your damned heart out.”

A tear slid down Virgil’s cheek and he furiously swiped it away. 

“You know I’m right,” Roman added.

“Fuck off, Princey,” Virgil said, but there was no heat in it. 

“Just…” Roman stood and walked to the door. “Think it over.”

Virgil popped his earbuds back in. 

Roman took the hint and left.

Three days later, he left for Philadelphia. 

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellebore:  
>  _peace, anxiety, scandal. one of the four classic poisons_


	26. Zinnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long distance phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Somewhere Out There" by Our Lady Peace

_last time i talked to you_  
_you were lonely and out of place_

The weeks following Roman’s departure were an exercise in exquisite torture. 

Virgil had desperately missed having Logan all to himself in the apartment. With Roman gone, Virgil found himself spending more time outside his room just to enjoy the peace and blissful quiet. 

(And maybe it was also a bid for Logan’s attention, during the rare spans of time he didn’t have to share it with…)

Sometimes, he’d bring out his drawing pad and Logan would bring out his laptop and the two would just exist in the same space, like they had before. And if Virgil spent less time actually drawing and more time studying the furrow between Logan’s brows, or calculating the colors he would need to recreate the exact umber shade of his skin…well.

They began walking together again in the evenings, sometimes just around the apartment complex, sometimes visiting the pixies at Painter’s Pond now that Nic could handle longer distances. 

His chest was constantly alight with a thousand needly pinpricks. 

Logan commented that his voice seemed raspier. 

But discomfort was something Virgil had long ago learned to live with, and as a changeling, he’d also learned to accept that life often just…didn’t go the way you wanted. 

You kept living anyway. You survived.

Roman video-called Virgil when he landed in Pennsylvania, and continued to do so at least two or three times a week. Virgil grumbled about harassment, and threatened to block Princey’s number, and told himself _next time_ he _definitely_ wasn’t going to pick up. Yet every time Roman’s stupid, tongue-sticking-out profile picture popped up on his screen, he found himself answering. 

After a few weeks, to his utter horror, he caught himself _looking forward_ to Roman’s calls. 

The other changeling reported that his mentor was currently coordinating with several other murders and Grimm chapters to plan Deceit’s trap; apparently a fetch-dealer was a big enough deal to swing that level of cooperation.

“I may not have killed him,” Roman said during one such call, only his eyes and nose visible onscreen, “but cutting off his hands must have slowed down whatever he was planning. He’s definitely in the city; we think he may even have a Hedgeside base here. And he’s not gonna get away this time. All the local gaps are monitored. The Erie Grimms are helping us with that.”

“That was Patton’s chapter for a while,” Virgil remembered aloud, leaning back against his bed’s headboard, phone propped up on his knee. 

“Patton was an Erie Grimm?” Roman frowned. “Our soft little puffball? That chapter’s downright ruthless, for Grimms, anyway.” He chuckled. “It’s why we work with them a lot.” 

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, well, he left for a reason.”

They both fell silent. Roman played with filters and Virgil picked at a rip in his jeans. The conversation had run perilously close to the one topic neither wanted to bring up, each for his own reasons.

“You could still come,” Roman said after a minute. The solemnity of the request was somewhat spoiled by the pink cartoon hearts currently floating around his face. Virgil sighed, and shook his head.

Roman asked at least once during every call. 

Virgil always refused. 

“Princey…”

“ _Take a break!_ ” Roman sang in his loud, confident voice. 

Virgil groaned. “This is revenge for me quoting Hamilton at you last time, isn’t it?”

“ _Come away with us for the summer, let’s go upstate!_ ”

“Why do I put up with you?” Virgil grumbled, rubbing his face.

“ _We can all go stay with my—_ ” Roman frowned, breaking character. “Well, no, I guess we _can’t_ all go stay with my father, being as I have no idea who the bastard is.”

“No?” Virgil asked, prompting a shrug from the other. 

“He bailed on my mom when I was little, before I was even kidnapped, apparently.”

“Before Arcadia” was always a tricky topic among changelings. Virgil had never spoken about his own “before” with, well, anyone. Not even Patton, let alone _Roman_. The other changeling had talked about his father like he didn’t care, but Virgil recognized an emotional dodge when he heard one. 

“How old were you?” Virgil asked. “When They took you?”

“Two,” Roman answered in a low voice. “You?”

“Barely a year old.” Virgil chewed on his lip. “I get little flashes of my parents now and then, dreams, that kind of thing. Nothing concrete.”

Roman’s voice turned harsh, and his eyes darkened. 

“Were you _fetched_?” 

He spat out the last word with such hatred that Virgil winced, his pulse spiking. _If I never hear that word again, it’ll be too soon. Gods, if he knew…_

Virgil shook his head.

“Apparently my captor managed to make it look like I died in an accident,” he explained. “The Grimms who rescued me tracked down the newspaper article from that year. It was awful but at least my folks had that closure, could move on. They even had another kid.” 

Virgil swallowed. “I’m guessing…you were fetched?”

Roman’s face contorted and he took a deep breath. 

“In some ways, I suppose it’s better that my mother never knew anything was different. Having my dad walk out and then losing me?” He shook his head. “After Kate took me under her wing, she and I tracked my mom down. I was 16. My replacement, my ’brother’ caught me spying on them.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. 

_Roman’s met a fetch. Roman’s met _his_ fetch. _

“That…must have been weird,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

“He’s fucking _psychotic_ , Virgil!” Roman hissed. “Do you know what it’s like to come face to face with your own face, but its bearer has absolutely no morals, no decency? He’s been in and out of jail for arson, assault, public nudity; you name it, he’s probably done it. He once knocked out some guy’s front teeth and shoved them up his nose, just because they said something he didn’t like. I'm lucky _I've_ never been mistakenly arrested for some of the shit he's done.” 

He rubbed his face. “My poor mom, raising that fucking mustached faery doll, thinking it was her son. He even changed his name, apparently.”

Virgil felt bad for Roman, but…

“Your fetch has a mustache?”

“Really? _That’s_ your takeaway?” Roman complained, glowering.

“No! It’s just…” An inappropriate smile crept onto Virgil’s face. “Your face, with a mustache. I can’t picture it.”

Roman huffed, and then sighed. 

“Meeting him was a little like…like looking into a funhouse mirror. But instead of a giant head, or like, long legs and a tiny torso, it showed me…everything I don't want to be. Everything I could have become.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very fun house,” Virgil murmured.

“Yeah. The worst part is, sometimes when I get angry, or do something reckless, or I have an idea and I forget to think about the consequences,” Roman bit his lip. “I worry I’ll turn into _that_. Wrong, and...inhuman. _Fae_.”

Virgil pressed his lips together. “You're not wrong or fae, Roman. You are nothing like that.”

_You never helped Them._

He thought about all the fetch dolls he’d made for Deceit. Who they’d been sold to. Where they were. 

He wondered if the poor changeling who’d made Roman’s deranged replacement was still out there, making more. If they were proud of their work. If they enjoyed it.

Virgil had been proud of his dolls, sometimes.

How many human lives had he helped Deceit ruin with them?

“Yeah,” Roman agreed solemnly, but his face brightened and he smiled, showy and fake. “But ah, well, whatever, you know? I got out of there, joined Smile, and I’ve never looked back.”

“Exactly.” Virgil agreed. “Honestly, it sounds like whoever made your fetch did a spectacularly shitty job. The whole point is for them to blend in.”

 _Mine were better_ , his mind whispered. _Mine were indistinguishable from real babies._

Thorns clawed at his throat and he felt sick. 

Roman had narrowed his eyes, making Virgil scramble to backtrack.

“I was a fetch-dealer’s thrall, remember?” he added, letting some honest bitterness seep into his voice. “You hear things.”

This seemed to placate the other changeling.

“Come to Philadelphia,” Roman asked again. 

Virgil looked away, unable to say yes and unwilling to outright say no.

“Remy misses you,” he said instead.

“Remy misses the fact that I was the only one who regularly bothered put cinnamon and vanilla in his cream,” Roman retorted. “We both know that brownie fucking _hated_ me otherwise.”

Virgil’s heart pinched at the past tense. Like Roman was never coming back. _Do…do I want Roman to come back?_

He forced a chuckle to cover the moment. “At least you can admit it.”

Roman’s answering smile was knowing. 

_Miss you too, Emo Nightmare_ , it said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zinnia:  
>  _thinking of an absent friend_


	27. Amaranthus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton's family situation forces a change. Or, things keeping getting worse before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "The Unwinding Cable Car" by Anberlin
> 
> Other song(s):  
> "Beautiful" by Future World Music

_your motive unstable_  
_you're like an unwinding cable car_

It was one month, to the day, of Roman’s departure. 

Virgil was painting in his room when he heard the front door open, not half an hour after Logan and Patton had left for the evening. 

_They must have forgotten something_ , he mused, turning his music up, not thinking much of it.

Patton had begun spending less time at the apartment, but only because he and Logan began going on, well, dates. Patton continued to call them “outings”, but Virgil guessed this wasn’t out of a desire to keep the relationship secret from him, but rather the unconscious homophobia he’d picked up from his adopted family. 

The three did occasionally have meals together at the apartment…Patton was nearly as good a cook as Roman, it turned out…but more often than not, Logan would disappear in the afternoon or early evening and return hours later, exuding such effervescent contentment that Virgil could hardly bear to look at him. 

Since they had to keep the relationship hidden from Patton’s family, Patton never spent the night; and since they kept most of their “couple-y” behavior confined to their dates, Virgil, fortunately, wasn’t subjected to much of them _together_. 

_Un_ fortunately, Virgil’s vivid, self-tormenting imagination was happy to fill in the blanks. Which inevitably led to him paying flowery homage to the porcelain throne at 2AM. 

He hated feeling like this. 

He still considered Patton his best friend, and the sunny changeling was just so happy and… _innocent_ about the whole thing that Virgil alternated between feeling sharply, sourly envious, and utterly disgusted with himself. 

Maybe this was payback for all those years of making human dolls. Even his own magic knew he deserved to hurt for daring to love. On the worst days, he lay in bed, barely able to breathe, and thought about Roman’s offer of escape. 

But most days, like today, he buried his feelings in drawing class and paints and music and managed to maintain a veneer of normalcy…enough to fool Logan, anyway. Virgil was pretty sure Patton sensed he wasn’t as okay as he pretended to be, but knowing Patton, he probably attributed Virgil’s isolation and moodiness to Roman’s absence.

Virgil was currently trying to create a particularly difficult melodic shade within a song called ‘Beautiful’, something between blue and yellow-orange-gold that veered very red on some notes, yet not really any of those. The difficulty was that outside of Virgil’s brain, blue and orange lay on opposite sides of the color wheel and directly mixing them created an ugly brownish gray. 

He was so absorbed in the challenge that he didn’t realize right away that someone was knocking. 

“Logan!” he sputtered when he finally opened the door, flushing from his neck to his ears. 

The half-faery wore an uncharacteristic frown, though the rest of him was immaculate: black dress pants, navy long sleeved dress shirt, and a blue striped tie he’d taken to wearing lately. (Virgil suspected it to be a gift from Patton.)

“I…” Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, making them glint. “I fear this may require your assistance.”

_This?_

The wet sound of sniffling met his ears, coming from the living room. Virgil’s frown deepened and he pushed past the half-faery, wiping his hands on a paper towel as he went. 

Patton huddled miserably on the sofa next to a sleeping Nic, feet tucked under and arms wrapped around himself, looking more upset than Virgil had ever seen him outside of Arcadia. His glasses had been set on the coffee table and his eyes were red with tears.

“Patton, what…?” Virgil sat next to him. 

Patton immediately crumpled against Virgil’s side, his body shuddering with suppressed sobs. Virgil placed an awkward arm around the other changeling and hesitantly petted his curls.

_Did…did they fight?_ He glanced at Logan, now standing by the kitchen counter, face pinched and maybe a tiny bit angry. _No…Logan wouldn’t have involved me if it was about the two of them._

“Patton, what happened?” Virgil asked softly, rubbing Patton’s back.

Patton hiccuped.

“It’s my fault.”

“Falsehood!” Logan snapped, marching over and moving the dog to sit on Patton’s other side. Nic got up with a huff and padded into the bedroom.

“If you will recall, sushi was my suggestion. The fact that your…family,” and the biting distaste in Logan’s voice touched something fierce in Virgil’s chest, “happened to choose the same restaurant is not something you could have predicted.”

“Yes it is,” Patton said stubbornly, shaking his head. “Wednesday has always been their date night. I should have picked someplace further away from home.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed as he pieced it together.

“You were caught,” he guessed.

Patton nodded miserably and laid his head on Virgil’s shoulder again. Logan slipped a hand into one of Patton’s, lacing their fingers together. The casual intimacy of the gesture prodded at Virgil’s heart. 

_Stop it. Patton needs your support right now_ , he chastised himself.

“So…what, they made a stink about it?” 

“Words were exchanged,” Logan said lowly. “None worth repeating. Do you hear me?” he added, leaning into Patton’s field of vision. “The things they said are a reflection of the ugliness within them. Not you, Starlight. You have done nothing wrong.”

_Starlight._

Thorns bit at Virgil’s insides. He wanted nothing more than to fuck off to his room and let Logan comfort his _boyfriend_ with sweet nicknames, but Patton’s solid presence against his side held him in place.

“You didn’t feel what they were thinking, Virge,” Patton said quietly. “I _disgust_ them. They don’t…they don’t want me to come back. They think Emile and I have both betrayed everything they are, and they never should have ‘taken a chance’ by adopting us.”

White hot fury burned in Virgil’s chest. No parent should ever think such horrible things about their own children, adopted or not, and this was all made far worse by Patton’s empathic abilities. _When I get my hands on those assholes…_

Patton sighed, a shaky breath of a sound, and tapped his free hand against Virgil’s knee. Almost immediately, the fury abated.

“Don't be mad for my sake,” Patton whispered.

Virgil swallowed hard, and accidentally caught Logan’s gaze across the top of Patton’s curls. 

_How is he so kind?_ Virgil asked with a helpless quirk of an eyebrow.

_I have no idea_ , Logan’s fond expression said back.

“Patton is not sure they will welcome him back into their home, and I fear—” Logan started.

“Good!” Virgil spat. “Patton, you do not have to back to that house, you hear me?” He gripped Patton’s soft shoulders. “They are poison. You have to see that.”

Patton sniffled, a miserable sound.

“I know you always see the best in everybody,” Virgil added, “but you don’t have to subject yourself to that kind of trollshit just to have a roof over your head.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to go,” Patton murmured. “I can’t afford my own place yet.”

“Falsehood,” Logan said in a gentle, but firm voice. “You know you are welcome here as long as you need.”

“And I’ve already said I won’t impose, Logan.” Patton shook his head. “You’ve got Virgil, and Remy, and if Roman ever decides to come back, you’re gonna have a full house. No, I’ll just keep my head down, let them cool off for a day or so, and this will blow over like it always does.”

Logan let out a slow, exasperated breath, which weirdly made Patton smile.

“Hey, Lolo, I’m gonna be fine,” he said, reaching for his round glasses and parking them back on his nose. “Tonight was just a bad night.”

“Patton—” Logan said.

“This is only for another year or so,” Patton interrupted, “and I’ll have enough saved to move out for good.”

Another _year_?

_Oh hell no._

Virgil’s legs propelled him to his feet.

“Patton Foster.” He planted hands on his hips. “You are staying here and that’s final.”

“Virgil—” Patton chided.

“No! You are not a burden and there’s no shame in accepting help from people who care about you.” Virgil lifted a finger. “If I have to disable Linda and force you to catch rides from Logan to keep you here, don’t think I won’t!”

Patton gasped and even Logan’s eyes widened.

“Look, at least just give it a week or so?” Virgil said, rubbing his neck. “Give Logan a chance to do what he does best.” 

“And what’s that?” Patton asked, tilting his head.

Virgil forced himself to meet Logan’s curious gaze.

“He takes care of people.”

Logan huffed as Patton leaned into him, but the half-faery didn’t look away. 

_Maybe my powers_ are _useless_ , Virgil added silently, meeting Logan’s stormy gaze. _But I’ll be_ damned _if I don’t do what I can to protect the people in this little family._ He ran a hand over the large patch on his sleeve, the plaid soft and familiar under his fingers.

Logan’s mouth lifted in a slight smile, his hand coming up to run through Patton’s hair. 

Patton, bless him, missed the subtle exchange. He sighed, long and hard.

“Wait, what about my stuff?” he asked, frowning. “Not that I have much I can’t live without. But I doubt they’re gonna let me just pack up and—”

“Make us a list,” Logan interrupted, “and Virgil and I will fetch your things tomorrow. He is right; there is no need for you to go back into that house.”

Virgil grinned and cracked his knuckles, which made Patton glower.

“No punching anyone,” he said sternly.

“No promises, Padre,” Virgil grumbled. 

This time Logan shot him a stern look, and he pouted, folding his arms. The three were silent for a moment. 

“So, ah, Logan,” Patton said, red staining his freckled cheeks. “If I’m staying…where am I sleeping tonight?”

Virgil nearly choked on air. Logan reacted no better: his eyes grew round and he shakily straightened his glasses and fixed his tie.

“Oh! Well, that is up to you, I suppose. This couch is a sleeper sofa or, or, I have a double. In my room.” Logan cleared his throat. “But, of course, I would not presume…I do not know how comfortable you are, with…”

This was not a conversation Virgil wanted any part of. He laughed, suddenly and awkwardly, drawing their attention. 

“So, I’m just gonna go, uh, grab some sheets while you guys figure things out,” he said, and scurried away. He flicked on the light and fumbled the hallway linen closet open; neatly-folded, familiar, navy blue towels blurring in his vision.

What the ever-loving fuck was wrong with him? 

He’d just convinced his crush’s boyfriend to move in. And now they were out there discussing _sleeping arrangements_. Something that had never been a question with Roman, because of course, Roman had been a stranger.

Not someone who might understandably expect to share a bed with Logan.

Virgil became aware of his hands gripping the set of sheets he’d pulled down, knuckles white. He needed to stop thinking like this. 

_Patton is my friend and he needs us. Period._

“Virgil.”

“By the High Queen’s…! Fuck.” Virgil startled away from the closet and found himself face to face with Logan. “I thought…why are you…?”

“Thank you,” the half-faery whispered. Before Virgil could react any further, Logan pulled him close and wrapped arms around his shoulders. Virgil stiffened in place as though Logan had used his power to freeze his bones. 

But no, Logan was hugging him. 

_Logan was hugging him._

He was cool and solid and the intoxicating scent of mahogany and teakwood assaulted Virgil’s nose. Every fingertip against Virgil’s back was a point of fire. Every sense felt painfully, intensely alive.

After a moment Virgil hesitantly brought his unoccupied hand to Logan’s waist, awkwardly returning the embrace.

_Am I allowed…?_

The half-faery’s dress shirt was smooth against his fingers and his bare neck was _right there_ …

“The entire drive home, I... _pleaded_ , with him,” Logan murmured, close to Virgil’s ear, making the changeling shiver. “I thought I would have to watch him walk back into that despicable house with those despicable people, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. He would not hear it from me.”

His grip tightened infinitesimally. “I am _immeasurably_ relieved that he listened to you.”

Virgil said nothing, still scrambling to reboot his crush-addled brain. 

Logan pulled back and gave Virgil’s shoulder a pat, took the sheets from his slack hand, and walked away again. Virgil continued to stand there, mouth agape. 

Gods, he could still feel every place on his body where Logan’s body had touched. It felt…it felt like those moments when a well-made fetch came alive and cried for the first time in his arms. Shamefully, _sinfully_ warm; the kind of good that made him want to scrape his own skin off, once the high faded. 

His chest had grown hot to the touch and a cough clawed its way up…

_Trollshit._

Quietly he slipped into the bathroom and turned on the vent. 

It was amaranths, “love lies bleeding”, this time; tiny red blossoms that got stuck in the back of his throat, almost making him vomit on top of all the coughing. Thirty minutes later he slouched into his room, weak and shaky, groaning when he saw he had six missed calls from Roman. 

Reluctantly he hit the callback button; if he didn’t, the stubborn changeling would keep trying all night.

Roman answered on the first ring, his hair in sweaty disarray. He was outside for once; usually he called from whatever motel room or safe house he was staying at. 

“Geez, Princey, eager much?” Virgil teased him, attempting a smile. 

“What happened?” Roman demanded. He produced a towel from somewhere and rubbed his head.

Virgil blinked. “Um…what?”

“You never call me back. And the longest you’ve ever ignored me is four tries,” Roman said tersely, eyebrows furrowed. “So c’mon, Charlie Frown, what happened?”

Virgil sighed. When had he become _that_ transparent? 

“Long story short,” he rasped, “Patton’s asshole parents saw him out with Logan, they pitched a fit and threw him out, so now he’s gonna stay with us for a while.”

Roman blinked. “That’s…a lot.”

“Yeah.” Virgil rubbed his neck. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Your voice…” Roman’s eyes narrowed. “You had an attack, didn’t you?”

“Not about that!” Virgil snapped. “I’m the one who convinced Patton to stay. Because he’s my friend and he needed a place and I’m not some selfish, jealous jerk!”

Roman had pulled the phone away from himself, so that Virgil could see his whole head and torso and a few surrounding trees. Now he zoomed back in.

“Sounds like I’m not the one you’re trying to convince there, buddy,” he said mildly.

Virgil growled and thunked his head against the headboard. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Virgil, I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life—”

“Princey, don’t think I won’t hang up!” Virgil interjected.

“But you need to ask yourself when enough is enough,” Roman went on implacably. “Every minute you sit around waiting for them to break up—”

“That’s not…” Virgil bit his lip. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

_Isn’t it?_ his vicious inner voice whispered.

“—you are just going to hate yourself more. Your feelings are literally tearing you apart from the inside out!”

“What would you have me do, Roman?” Virgil asked helplessly. “I was _fine_ , and then tonight happened, and he hugged me and I just…fell apart.” 

He let his head rest on his arm, laid across his knees, and breathed deep. His hoodie still smelled faintly of Logan, from where he’d been _held_ , however briefly. 

“If you were really fine,” Roman said lowly. “Then nothing that happened tonight would have hurt you.”

Virgil inhaled, nose still buried in the soft plaid. Mahogany and teakwood, earthy deep and wanting. 

He was never going to be free of this.

“I’m not _hurt_.”

“You’re allowed to be.”

“What would you have me do?” Virgil snapped again.

“ _Leave!_ ” Roman sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Get out. Put some fucking distance between you and that—”

“Do not insult him,” Virgil snarled.

“- _situation_ , then,” Roman amended, teeth flashing. This was working him up. He flicked the towel over his shoulder and took an obvious calming breath. 

“Come to Pennsylvania,” he said in a gentler voice.

“No.”

“Virgil—”

“I’m not dropping out of school to come on a wild goose chase with you, Princey,” Virgil said.

Roman scoffed, bringing his phone closer to his face. “I still say you don’t give a brownie’s hairy ass about Stetson.”

Virgil was surprised to notice a bit of stubble on Roman’s cheeks, tempting him to make a “brownie’s hairy ass” joke involving Roman’s shaving habits.

“And how would you know?” he said instead.

“You never talk about it.” Roman said with a shrug. “Like, you know every new sword form I’ve learned since coming back, and I don’t even know what classes you’re taking this semester.”

Virgil scowled, feeling the truth of that like a blow. 

School was a convenient source of drudgery, something to fill his days and feel like he was accomplishing something. He did the minimum amount of work required to pass, and rarely ever checked his grades. 

He had no plans that required an art degree. 

In fact, since moving here, Virgil had had no real plans beyond not getting captured by Deceit, and some vague hope that Logan might…but of course _that_ wasn’t an option anymore.

“C’mon, Virge,” Roman coaxed. “You’d like the crew here; they don’t take shit, like you. Plus, I still think we make a pretty good team.” He chuckled. “When you aren’t being a stubborn gnome.”

Later, Virgil would tell himself Roman hadn’t meant anything by it; poking fun at people was just how Roman showed his love. Insults meant insecurity, and insecurity meant Roman cared, deeply. 

But at the moment, Virgil had too much frustration and hurt and self-hatred clamoring inside him, and he lashed out. 

“We both know why you want me there, Princey, and it’s not gonna happen, so can you just cut the crap?” Virgil jabbed, sneering at Roman’s stricken expression. “You wanna lecture me about distance? How’s it been working out for _you_?”

For a long moment, Roman said nothing. His dark eyes glittered.

“That was low,” he said. “Even for you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Virgil sneered.

“It means I don’t know why I put up with your shit!” Roman yelled, the screen froze, and the “call ended” dialogue popped up on Virgil’s screen. 

Roman had hung up on him. 

Virgil swore in Faery and tossed his phone to the foot of his bed. Sighing, he laid back, the heat in his chest crystallizing into guilt.

It had been cruel to weaponize Roman’s feelings against him, when Roman had been nothing but a fount of unquestioning support. The guy hadn’t even really said anything upsetting; it was just…safer, to be angry, than to actually think about what Roman had said about distance, about getting out. 

Anger was safe. 

Anger didn’t cause thorns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amaranthus:  
>  _hopelessness, also called love-lies-bleeding_


	28. Willow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil finally decides to get some things off his chest...but it can never be that easy, can it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Crush" by The Birthday Massacre
> 
> Other song(s):  
> "The Lotus and the Willow" by Phantasma

_we crash. twin fire. blue ash. pink smoke_  
_spirals in decline, one tied against the other_

The end of May barreled in with unseasonable heat and afternoon thunderstorms. Virgil started wearing tanks under his hoodie again. Logan put an umbrella stand next to the front door. 

Patton effortlessly filled the space in the apartment Roman had left behind.

He was not as diligent a cook as Roman had been, but that was mostly because he worked more hours than any of them. His real talent lay in baking; his ‘mom’ had taught him to make things for various church functions, and Patton claimed he found it soothing. 

Personally, Virgil suspected it was the sweets themselves that were soothing, but he wasn’t going to object to extra cookies. 

The downside to having Patton permanently in the apartment was that Virgil often came home and happened upon the couple cuddling on the sofa, or cooking together in the kitchen, or having conversations that would fall silent when he passed through. 

All of which would have been awkward even without Virgil’s feelings coloring the situation.

The sofa sheets did get used…not that Virgil paid _any_ attention. Yet he also occasionally heard voices coming from Logan’s bedroom late at night… _and it’s none of your damned business_ , he reminded himself fiercely. He also _did not_ listen for…other…nightly activities.

Virgil’s classes progressed relentlessly toward semester’s end, which meant he had the perfect excuse to spend less time at the apartment and more time in various campus studios working on final projects. He was proud enough of his drawing final, a still-life of collected junk done half in charcoal and half in gouache, that he even showed it to Roman…if only to prove that he did, in fact, care about a few of his classes. 

After their awful fight the night Patton moved in, Roman didn’t call Virgil for an entire week. It was Virgil that finally cracked, and reached out, and haltingly apologized. Roman, for his part, was brash and haughtily forgiving, and both were willing to let things between them go back to normal after that. 

The day before Virgil’s last final, he made the long trek home late in the evening, having spent the last few hours in the drawing studio. His hands and back ached, and he was looking forward to cheap Chinese takeout and mindless YouTube. 

Despite being after 8PM, it was still sweltering. Virgil considered stopping at Painter’s Pond…the pixies tended to pout if he didn’t seek out their company at least once a week…but decided it was too hot. 

Maybe they could all go later with Nic, if Logan and Patton didn’t already have plans.

He let himself into the apartment, shedding his backpack and hoodie and letting himself bask in the blessed air conditioning. Logan’s Fit had been in its usual spot, but given the stillness and open bedroom door, Logan himself must be out somewhere. No Linda, so Patton must still be working. Faint snoring coming from Remy’s cabinet told him the brownie was sound asleep, as usual. 

Nic, however, came bounding off the sofa to greet him, nearly knocking him over.

“Easy, boy,” Virgil laughed, scrubbing the dog’s ears and warding off doggie kisses. “C’mon, you know Logan doesn’t like it when you jump on people.”

He knelt next to Nic and traced over the long, jagged scars on his side. The dog’s dense brown fur was growing back from where they’d shaved him, though the scars themselves were still raised and pink. 

Patton constantly assured Logan they’d eventually fade to white, but warned him they’d probably never fade entirely.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Virgil murmured against the dog’s flank. “If you hadn’t chased that damned squirrel, you’d have never fallen under Deceit’s spell. You wouldn’t have these.”

He traced the worst scar again, the one that ran from shoulder to rump; the one that had required surgery. 

“You wouldn’t have needed to go to the hospital. I would still think Patton was dead in Arcadia all those years ago.”

Virgil swallowed the bramble threatening to climb up his throat. 

“Is that a terrible thing to wish for, Nic?” he asked, staring into his guileless brown eyes. “Am I a horrible person for wishing Logan had never…” He paused, and closed his stinging eyes. “Had never met Patton?”

It was freeing, almost, to say the words aloud. 

“I mean, _logically_ ,” he choked back a bitter laugh, “it’s not like Logan ever showed any interest in me like _that_. It’s not like I ever actually had a chance, you know? I was never…never gonna be good enough.” 

Now that the words were flowing they wouldn’t stop, even though there was no one but a dog and a sleeping house brownie to hear them. 

“We had a whole year; you’d think if it was ever gonna happen, it would have. We had all those talks, like that one Christmas. You know? It should have happened before we even met _Roman_ , let alone Patton.”

“So why… _why_ am I so hung up on him being with someone else?”

Hot tears slipped out and he pressed his face into Nic’s shoulder again.

“I am just so tired, Nic,” he mumbled. “My chest hurts all the fucking time, I can’t…I can’t _control_ it. My powers are gonna give me asthma for real, or _worse_ , because I can’t seem to stop.” 

A cough bubbled up, momentarily choking him, proving his own point. It was a long moment before he could catch his breath and clear his throat. 

Nic whined softly and licked Virgil’s ear.

“Ugh, stop, dog, I’m not dead yet,” he groused good-naturedly, and then sighed. “Although these stupid attacks…it’s whole flowers now, not just the petals. Sometimes I feel them sticking in my throat, in my chest, like they’re just building up there every time my heart hurts. There’s…there’s more blood than there used to be, too.”

Virgil rarely allowed himself to contemplate whether or not his powers could kill him. He knew in his bones that they absolutely could, and worse, that they _were_. Every attack pushed him a little closer to that edge. 

It was why he didn’t tell Roman about the progression from petals, to buds, to full grown flowers; why he pretended they didn’t happen almost every day now; why he chewed breath mints to mask the red metallic taste of blood and bitter green. 

For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of fear.

“I don’t want to die, Nic,” he whispered, his chest tight. “But I don’t know how to stop loving him.”

#

Eventually Virgil’s knees protested, Nic got antsy, and he had to get up. He wandered into the kitchen, looking for the takeout menu, and huffed in annoyance when he saw someone had moved it from the fridge. He searched the dining and coffee tables, finding nothing, and decided either Logan or Patton must have taken it to Logan’s room. 

He still hated to go in there uninvited, but…fuck, he wanted General Tso. 

Virgil let himself into the half-faery’s room, searched the nightstand, and then went to the desk. There it was! Right on top of the (thankfully) closed laptop. He snatched it up, and that’s when he noticed that Logan’s telescope was missing from its usual spot in the corner. 

_Had Logan gone stargazing?_

Logan’s car was here, and the only real stargazing place within walking distance was Painter’s Pond. 

Virgil’s heart tumbled over in his chest. Food forgotten, he marched back into the living room, grabbed his hoodie from where he’d tossed it and threw it back on. Keys, wallet, phone, shoes…Nic. He paused.

Should he take the dog? 

It was almost time for his evening walk anyway, and if Logan had gone to the park, they could all walk back together. But…what if Logan, knowing he would be taking the telescope out, had already walked Nic before Virgil had gotten home? Virgil didn’t want to haul the poor dog all that way if he’d already been out that evening; he was still healing and that much exercise wouldn’t be good for him. 

Logan would get upset and berate him for making assumptions.

Plus, the last time Virgil had taken Nic out alone…maybe Deceit wasn’t an immediate threat, but the fear was still there.

Virgil sighed, gripping his bear pendant under his shirt.

“Sorry, boy,” he said. “If I’m wrong, we’ll take you out later, okay?”

Nic woofed, his tail thumping. Virgil took that as permission to leave.

Halfway to the park, Virgil slowed and asked himself what the hell he was doing. Why had he jumped at this? What would he even say when he got there? 

_“Oh hey, fancy seeing you here, Logan, I was just out for a walk myself…”_

Virgil snorted and shook his head. The truth was, his doubt-ridden, conscious brain was only just coming to terms with what his subconscious had dragged him out here to do. 

Confess.

Everything. 

The flowers, his feelings, maybe even…the fetch-making. 

Not in some wild scheme to win Logan’s heart; honestly, he’d be lucky if the half-faery didn’t kick him to the curb at long last. But just to have it off his chest. Maybe confessing would give him some relief from the relentless thorns, after months and months of keeping secrets.

Doing it at Painter’s Pond, in the same park where Logan had once told Virgil the truth about his mother and Deceit...it felt _right_.

If his anxiety didn’t get the better of him before he even got there.

As the park came into view, he slowed even more; this time because he caught sight of the half-faery alone on the green, just beyond the sidewalk.

The sun had set but full darkness hadn’t fallen. Logan had set up the telescope near the center of the park, on a slight rise that had the best view. He was bent over the scope but as Virgil watched, he straightened up and looked around, needlessly fixing his tie like he always did. 

His gaze swept toward Virgil, causing him to duck into a nearby bush and immediately feel like an idiot. 

_Coward_ , his inner voice murmured.

 _Shut up_ , he thought back. Watching Logan out here alone brought back memories of the first time he’d brought Virgil here to stargaze. Wren and Wrassey and Tourmaline had introduced him to the park gnomes, and Logan had entertained them all for hours with his never-ending well of knowledge. 

He remembered the way the light caught in Logan’s glasses that night, how he pretended to be annoyed when the pixies hung off his pointed ears but how he actually enjoyed the attention. 

Virgil missed that night with an ache that surprised him.

Hiding here was stupid, as it was getting darker and harder to see by the minute. Virgil needed to walk over there, say what needed saying, and let the chips fall.

 _It’s just Logan_ , he told himself, standing up and taking a deep breath. He gripped his pendant for courage. _You’ve lived under his roof and been his friend for nearly two years now. Stargazing is a time for truth._

But before Virgil could move, another figure came jogging across the grass from the other side of the park, holding a cardboard drink carrier with two coffee cups. Logan moved to intercept them, gently plucking the carrier from their hands; hands that belonged to a curly-haired, bespectacled, familiar someone. 

The couple settled next to the telescope. 

Logan’s arm rose in a familiar arc toward the sky and Patton’s gaze followed.

Virgil felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut. 

Up until this moment, he’d stupidly assumed that Painter’s Pond was his and Logan’s alone. A place to relax in their shared love of quiet, a place to share deep thoughts, to share secrets. It was the one piece of Logan that he’d never had to share with anyone else. 

He backed away, slowly so as to not draw their attention, thrust his hands in his pockets, and slunk back the way he’d come.

 _Stupid, stupid changeling. Did you really think it meant that much to_ him _?_

Of course Logan had brought Patton here. It probably wasn’t even the first time. Stargazing was romantic as fuck; it was part of the reason Virgil had loved it so much. Everything he and Logan had done at this park; talking on a blanket under the stars…

Virgil had just been _practice_ , hadn't he?

And he’d been replaced.

The world blurred.

He didn’t realize he was running until pain in his shins forced him to slow. He’d nearly covered the distance between the park and Stetson; Presser Hall stood red-bricked and dark across the street. Virgil finally staggered off the sidewalk, wheezing in increasingly desperate gasps, fighting off the attack he could feel in every twisting poisonous thorn crawling up his throat. 

It happened anyway.

His heart was all splintered glass and the pieces ripped jagged holes in his chest with every petal-stained cough. 

Dimly he came back to himself, choking again when he saw the bloodstained floral carnage. It looked like someone had dipped a bouquet in sticky syrup, tore it apart in a fit of passion, and dragged the whole mess through the dirt. 

Horror twisted in Virgil’s gut. Thank the cursed High Arcadian Queen nobody had walked past while all… _that_ …was going on. How was he still _breathing_? His chest heaved; fae power pulsing like a living beast, all thorns and claws and clambering up for another attack. 

He _wouldn’t_ be breathing for long, at this rate.

In desperation to turn his magic on something besides his own flesh, he snatched a stick and bent his power into it, something he hadn’t consciously done since he and Roman had gone Hedgeside. The wood obediently rippled and fluttered, sprouting tiny stems that opened into a spray of red, white, and purple anemones. 

Virgil stroked a shaking a thumb over a flower, grounding himself with its delicate, six petaled softness. He opened his other clenched fist, slowly, discovering Logan’s pendant nestled in his palm. 

He must have torn it from his neck during the attack. 

His arm reared back to throw it away…but even now, _even now_ , he couldn’t bear to part with it. Mouth twisting, he shoved it into his hoodie pocket. He had a messy red streak across that same hand; probably from where he’d wiped his mouth. 

_Anemones symbolize sickness_ , he thought grimly, scrubbing at his gross hand with his other sleeve. 

Engaging his power properly had helped; he mustered the strength to climb to his feet. He crossed the street onto Stetson territory and made his way to a small on-campus park called the Arden Forest. 

”Forest” was a generous term for the tiny stand of trees. Virgil had discovered the place after observing several elves coming in and out. It turned out that an extremely shy Dryad lived in the oldest oak, one who apparently liked gifting acorns and small trinkets to those willing to visit her tree.

He leaned against her trunk now, sliding down until he could lay his head on his arms. 

For the moment, it was enough to simply breathe.

Something poked him in the arm, making him look up, and he nearly screamed at the face hovering mere inches from his own.

An old woman with brown, wrinkled skin, twiggy hair, and a dress made of thousands of deep green oak leaves knelt across from him, observing with black, shiny, fae eyes. He skittered back in instinctual alarm, a holdover from captivity, but this Fae didn’t look cruel. 

She held a long, gnarled branch in her long, gnarled fingers, and used it to poke at him again.

“ _It is all twisted_ ,” she said in rasping Faery, with a voice like rustling leaves.

Virgil swallowed uneasily. The Arden Dryad had never actually showed herself to him before. He didn’t know if this boded well or not. 

She swished closer and forced her branch into his unresisting hands. He licked his lips, running hesitant fingers over the bark, knowing in his bones that it came from her own tree. Was it a gift?

“I don’t…um…” he stammered.

“ _It is all twisted at the center_.” She pointed to his heart. “ _It bleeds, more than this form can bear_.” She nodded to the branch. “ _Give to me_.”

Virgil remembered Wrassey's cryptic words to him at Christmas, and understood. 

He gripped her branch in both hands, planted it against the ground, and pushed his power into it. Wood was always the easiest material to shape, but _this_ wood…he almost sobbed in relief at how easy it was; his magic slid through like a knife parting butter. The branch expanded, reaching for the sky and plunging into the earth. 

The Dryad’s wood practically soaked the excess magic out his ravaged lungs, down his arms, through his palms. The top feathered into branches which grew heavy with foliage, hundreds upon hundreds of tiny pale green leaves. When Virgil finally let go, feeling utterly drained but able to take the deepest breath he’d managed in months, he’d grown a small, droopy willow at the base of the Dryad’s oak.

Still the Dryad tsked at him, her dress crinkling as she swished close.

“ _It is all twisted. Here_ ,” she said, laying both gnarled hands over Virgil’s heart. She then grasped his chin in an iron grip and pulled him in, so close he could count her wrinkles and smell her mossy breath. 

“ _Here_ ,” she whispered. 

With her other hand, she hooked a finger at the corner of his eye and traced down his cheek. Then the other eye, the other cheek. 

“ _The bitter water, you must also gift. Like your tree. She weeps_.”

A song bubbled up in Virgil’s consciousness, everywhere the dryad touched, all green and heartsick blue and sunset pink.

 _"like the lotus and the willow_  
_at the river by the meadow_  
_come the fall she will sleep"_

And suddenly all he could see in his mind’s eye was Logan.

_"and the willow it weeps"_

The way his prismatic eyes glinted in excitement, the rich timbre of his voice, the way his rare smiles lit up a room. 

_"and like all the star-crossed lovers"_

Logan’s gentle, capable hands stroking Nic’s fur, or tapping away on his laptop, or pouring cream for Remy. 

_"say goodbye to one another"_

The way frost had arced from those flexed fingers across a coffee table, irises flashing white. Eating Crofter’s straight from the jar on Christmas Day. The terrible rage in his eyes when he’d fought Deceit. 

His quick wit. 

His quiet. 

His kindness. 

_"like the willow i weep"_

The feel of his fingertips on Virgil’s back; his scent in Virgil’s nose.

All the times they’d gone stargazing together.

All the attempted touches, withheld at the last second.

All the missed firsts.

All the times Virgil had been _almost_ and _too late_ and _never enough_.

_"like the willow i weep"_

He crumpled to the ground and finally cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeping willow:  
>  _mourning, sadness, forsaken love_
> 
> We've reached the first of the two darkest chapters in this story. I promise I'm not going to torture him for much longer ;) 
> 
> If anyone is curious about the music I used to write Mahogany, and this chapter (and the next) in particular, I have a Spotify playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3WTmZ7PLy6zmi0OddTiaaJ?si=dl6soufkTA2UX3bkTgIXmw). You'll see all the title songs, plus others, in chronological order. (Be warned, if you listen beyond "The Lotus and the Willow" today, it might get a little spoilery.)
> 
> Merry Samhain, all!


	29. Asphodel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night isn't over until the sun comes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "The Sound of Silence" cover by Disturbed
> 
> Other song(s):  
> "Breathe No More" by Evanescence

_hello, darkness, my old friend_  
_i’ve come to talk with you again_

What felt like hours later, the tears ran dry and Virgil dared to lift his head. 

The Dryad had gone, though his willow still stood where he’d planted it, plump acorns strewn across its roots. Virgil picked one up and pocketed it, reminding himself to come back later with something nice to give her. 

He wasn’t certain…the whole encounter already felt fuzzy and dreamlike in his head…but even if the Arden Dryad’s only motivating desire had been to feast on his bleeding, chaotic emotions, she had likely saved his life in doing so.

His chest felt less poisonous now, but a tight, heavy ball nestled in the center of his heart, ready to send another shockwave of agony through his system the moment he paid it enough attention.

For now…

Virgil stood unsteadily, touching the Dryad’s trunk for balance, and wiped his face. Both hoodie sleeves were moist with tears and snot and eyeshadow and possibly blood from his earlier attack; he would have to wash it later. 

He didn’t want to go home just yet. 

Home would smell too much like Logan. 

So he walked. 

He didn’t pay much attention to where, though he did make a wide detour around Painter’s Pond. This took him past the Athens Theater and another well of unpleasant memories; he clenched his fists and walked faster. 

Eventually he reached downtown. Shops were closed, but the restaurants were hopping and plenty of people still wandered about. For a while, Virgil lost himself in trudging from one end of Woodland Ave. to the other, scuffing his shoes, hood up and hands stuffed in his pockets. 

When he noticed enough people doing double takes after glancing at his face, he guessed for once it probably wasn’t because of his heterochromatic changeling eyes. One good scrub in a bathroom sink and a fresh mask of eyeshadow later, and he felt almost able to exist among people again.

He knew he should probably eat, too, but the thought of food made his stomach roll. 

Instead he trudged up a staircase to DeLand’s infamous second story pool hall and bar.

Every changeling possessed a hint of fae compulsion magic, some strong enough to order a room full of people to clear out, some barely enough to convince a bored barkeep that his ID said twenty-one years old, actual evidence to the contrary. Which was how Virgil found himself with a cheap beer in hand and nothing, really, to do. 

He found an empty corner. Played games on his phone until his battery got low, and then turned it off. 

Bought another beer. 

Turned down an invitation to play pool. 

Watched the game anyway, faking a smile when necessary. Tried not to feel insulted when one of the girls brought him a third drink because “he looked like he needed it.” He even let her sloppily scrawl her number on his hand, because “no thanks, I’m gay and my crush is dating my best friend and I’m so fucking depressed that I literally cough up flowers” didn’t seem like something you said to a stranger in a bar. 

Her friends started another game; he offered to keep score for them. He kept score for the next group as well, and the next. No one questioned why the slouchy, sour-faced guy in the patched hoodie didn’t seem to be there to drink, or to play. 

He did _not_ wonder what Logan and Patton were doing.

He did consider getting properly drunk, but in the end he couldn’t justify blowing that much money on alcohol. Plus, he had his last final exam in the morning. 

Finally even DeLand’s sparse nightlife shut down, and Virgil decided to move his pity party to Stetson’s dark, sleepy campus. He threw himself onto one of the benches surrounding Holler Fountain, facing Sampson Hall, where his art classes were held. 

Colored lights danced prettily within the fountain’s pool, all greens and blues and whites, and orange streetlights painted the surrounding sidewalks in patches of saturated shadow. The the air smelled of reclaimed water. 

He felt Logan’s absence in every empty bench, every deserted sidewalk, in every uncaring star overhead. 

But truthfully, that was nothing new.

The monotonous splashing soothed Virgil’s aching heart. 

The usual drunks had reign of the campus. A group of them were playing some sort of football-slash-frisbee game on the lawn, except Virgil saw no sign of a ball or a frisbee anywhere. 

His eyes felt heavy and his head throbbed. 

He turned on his phone to check the time and cringed: 3:47AM. 

Virgil sighed and rubbed his face, being careful not to smear his eye makeup again. He still didn’t want to go back to the apartment, but he was exhausted and thirsty and his feet were killing him. Plus, if the little text notification icon was any indication, Logan and Patton were probably both wondering where he was.

He was extra quiet in climbing the apartment stairs, and opening the door. Inside was dark, surprise, surprise. He’d forgotten to look for their cars, but he assumed they were here and probably asleep. 

(He pushed down the pang of disappointment that Logan, at least, hadn’t waited up, brushing it off as selfish and unrealistic). 

As Virgil’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, the first thing he noticed was that the sofa was empty and Logan’s bedroom door was closed. The aching knot in his chest flared and he had to shut his eyes for a moment. 

_Don’t think about them. Just go the fuck to bed._

Virgil slipped into his own room, finding his lamp by touch alone. He plugged his phone in and checked his notifications.

_4 unread messages from Microsoft nerd_  
_2 missed calls from Microsoft nerd_  
_1 unread message from watson_

Virgil had never gotten around to changing his contact names back to normal after Roman had stolen his phone at some point. At least Roman hadn’t tried to call tonight, or he’d probably be outright panicked by now. 

Virgil opened his texts, opting to read Patton’s first.

_watson: kiddo, everything ok? Lo just tried to call and said it went straight to voicemail_  
_Thu 10:26PM_

Yeah, well…Virgil’d had his phone off for most of the night. _Oh well._ He sighed, braced himself, and clicked on Logan’s conversation.

_Microsoft nerd: Are you still working on your final?_  
_Thu 9:16PM_

_Microsoft nerd: Virgil, you are normally home by now. With Deceit pinned down in the north, I suppose I needn’t worry when I cannot contact you, but I am still a bit concerned. Please call or text._  
_Thu 10:03PM_

_Microsoft nerd: Patton has suggested that perhaps you decided to go out for “a bit of fun” tonight. I will not continue to pester you if that is the case, but in the future I would appreciate you letting us know first. Nic nearly had an accident on the floor because he had not been walked tonight._  
_Thu 10:29PM_

Virgil’s mouth twisted and nearly threw the phone across the room. 

_Of course_ he’d made the wrong call with Nic when he’d left, and then he’d forgotten all about it. He should have come straight home and walked the dog after seeing that Logan was busy, but he’d been too wrapped up in his own selfish drama. 

_Careless. Selfish. Unreliable._ His inner voice crooned, the one that sounded uncomfortably like Deceit. 

_It’s no wonder Logan never wanted you._

He gritted his teeth and read the last message.

_Microsoft nerd: I hope everything is all right. We are going to bed._  
_1:04AM_

We.

Us.

Virgil exhaled, long and hard. He supposed he should be grateful Logan only seemed mildly annoyed at his disappearance, but…after everything, it felt a whole lot like Logan simply couldn’t be bothered to care. 

_And why should he? I’m not a child. I don’t need him to check up on me._

He decided to get a glass of water. 

The liquid felt blissfully good against his ravaged throat. He refilled it and headed back to his room, when he noticed a stray piece of paper on the dining room table. Some impulse compelled him to snatch it up and activate the flashlight app on his phone…if only because Logan rarely left trash laying around. 

_Just a shopping list_ , Virgil realized as he scanned it. 

But the last two items caught his eye, plain as day in Logan’s tiny, obsessively neat handwriting. 

_Lubricant_  
_Condoms_

Virgil snatched his hand away, letting the list flutter to the floor. He shot a wild-eyed look towards Logan’s closed door. 

A closed door which suddenly held much more significance. 

Why in the seven Arcadian hells would Logan _write that out_ , and then leave the evidence laying around where anyone could find it? 

_Why wouldn’t he?_ Deceit’s voice hissed in his head. _It’s his home. Are you selfish enough to think he should be ashamed of anything he and Patton are doing?_

No. 

Of course not. 

It was just another first, in a long list of Logan’s firsts, that Virgil would never get to claim. Just more proof that he’d never really been all that important. 

Just another thorn in his heart. 

His lungs spasmed and he ran for the bathroom, hitting the light and missing the vent, barely able to fumble the seat up before he was coughing, harder than even the attack from earlier, harder than he’d ever coughed in his life. 

The flowers came and came and he was drowning, drowning like he’d never draw another breath, like _this is it, it’s really going to kill me this time…_

_i’m sorry…_

_i can’t…_

He hacked up one last disgusting mouthful and spat, and the attack mercifully let up. 

But long minutes passed before Virgil was able to move. His lungs still felt raw and liquid-y; his gasping breaths crackled. The reek of metallic red and bitter green in the toilet made his stomach roll and then he was retching, adding bile to the mix. 

He didn’t realize he was crying until a tear dripped from his nose, and another, until he was coughing and hiccuping and another whole flower crawled its way up his throat and joined its slimy brethren. 

Tiny yellow rue, black and yellow roses, blood red poppies, purple mallows, and the latest addition: white asphodel. 

_My regrets follow you to the grave._

If heartbreak was a bouquet, Virgil had just vomited it up. 

A door creaked and the hallway light clicked on. 

Virgil hurriedly flushed the toilet and scrubbed at his mouth. To his disappointment, it was Patton who poked his head in, blearily adjusting his glasses, ginger curls a mess. 

“Virgil?” he mumbled, his cheery voice scratchy with sleep. He was wearing a pair of Logan’s NASA pajama pants, which Virgil immediately averted his eyes from, and a gray hoodie with a giant pocket in front and cat ears on the hood. 

Another recent gift from Logan. 

“Are you sick, kiddo?” 

“Um…yeah,” Virgil rasped, and cleared his throat. “Just…shitty bar food, you know?” 

He attempted a smile, which slid off his face when Logan appeared at Patton’s shoulder. He, too, wore soft pajama bottoms…and nothing else, which of course made Virgil’s already unsteady pulse skyrocket. 

“Well, it is no wonder,” Logan said crisply. “Staying out so late would make anyone sick. It is highly irresponsible, especially considering you have a final in the morning.” 

He sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. “Have you been _drinking_?” 

“Logan, don’t be mean,” Patton murmured, shooting a stern look over his shoulder. The half-faery sighed and pinched his nose. 

Virgil’s face flushed. What must he look like, hunched over a toilet at 4:30AM after having been out all night? Protesting that he’d only had a few beers, hours ago, would sound like denial. He feel like a guilty teenager who’d been caught partying, whose parents were about to give him a stern lecture. 

Anger propelled him to his feet. 

Bad enough Patton acted like a dad to everyone, even when it wasn’t wanted. Having _Logan_ step into that role as well was unbearable. He stumbled, catching the edge of the sink. 

Patton, pity glimmering in his eyes, reached for him. 

“I don’t need help!” Virgil snarled, shoving him away. “And I don’t need your judgement.” 

“Virgil!” Logan snapped, which Virgil felt like a knife jab. He’d never been on the bladed side of Logan’s protective nature before; hurt made his lip lift in a snarl. 

_Look at how completely, how thoroughly Patton has replaced you._

“What,” he challenged, meeting Logan’s stormy gaze and folding his arms. 

Logan’s irises paled, like he’d lash out, but Patton touched his elbow. Instead Logan adjusted his glasses. 

“I am worried about you,” he began. 

“Don’t be,” Virgil muttered. 

“I was not finished,” Logan said in a sharper voice, and Virgil wilted, looking away. 

“You have been unusually distant for weeks now, ever since Roman left for Pennsylvania. I understand that you must miss him, but risking your health by staying out late and indulging in substance abuse—” 

“I wasn’t drinking!” Virgil shouted hoarsely. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror: hollow-cheeked, smeared makeup revealing stark eye bags, sweaty, gross hair, cheeks ruddy with fury. He did look very much like he had been drinking, which only made him angrier. “And Roman has nothing to do with me being pissed at you!” 

“Virgil—” Patton began in a placating voice, but Virgil silenced him with a thunderous look. 

“All right,” Logan said, moving Patton gently aside and stepping into Virgil’s space. “Go on. Why are you pissed at me?” 

Virgil’s heart quailed. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. 

_Because you see me as a child._

_Because you cut me open over and over again and you never even notice._

_Because everything we ever had apparently meant nothing._

_Because I will never be your equal and you will never love me back._

Behind Logan’s shoulder, Patton’s eyes widened infinitesimally. Growling, Virgil shoved past both of them into the hallway, fists clenching inside his hoodie sleeves, forcing down the inner litany of hurt before Patton deduced its cause. He needed to get his head back together. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said finally, turning, but his words died. 

Logan had a hand on Patton’s lower back, rubbing absently, and Patton just as absently leaned into the touch. Dark braids and ginger curls, dark skin and freckles, yin and yang, two sides of the same coin. With their paired pajama pants and similar glasses and identical concerned expressions, they looked like a unit. 

A _family._

A family that no longer needed a broken, thorny fetch-maker creating nothing but trouble with his stupid, pathetic _feelings_. Now, worse than feeling replaced, Virgil and his drama felt like an intrusion into their happiness. The rage drained out of him. 

They didn’t deserve this. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said in a softer voice, biting back tears. “And I’m sorry I didn’t walk Nic earlier. I’ll do better, okay? I promise.” 

“We’re not upset at you, Virge…” Patton started. 

_‘We’ again._

“We just—” 

Virgil stalked past them both. 

“I’m fine. It’s _fine_ ,” he threw over his shoulder as he reached his room. “Go back to sleep.” 

He didn’t dare look at Logan. 

He ducked into his room and softly shut the door, not having the energy to muster one last door slam. It would only make him seem more like a child, anyway. He slid down, back against the smooth wood, and waited for the murmur of soft voices outside to cease and Logan’s bedroom door to close again. 

Even after it did, Virgil still sat there, staring at nothing. 

Finally he stood, fully intending to throw himself into bed and snatch what few hours of sleep he had left. Instead his hand went into his hoodie pocket, closing around the cold bear pendant. He stroked his thumb over the familiar shape, and tied the twine back together. 

He moved to put it back on. 

It hurt too much. 

Instead he walked to his desk, grabbed his last black canvas, and set it on his easel. He hung the pendant from a corner and plugged in his headphones. 

After some searching, he cued up a song he’d been listening to on repeat the last few days. 

The first red piano notes resonated through his body. He squeezed alizarin crimson onto a palette knife, and began to paint. 

_i’ve been looking in the mirror for so long_  
_that i’ve come to believe my soul’s on the other side_

Sometimes the inner cacophony of madness hurt too much for proper words. Sometimes it took color and sound and the scrape of metal against canvas to pull all the disparate parts of himself together again. 

_all the little pieces falling, shatter_  
_shards of me, too sharp to put back together_

Crimson streaks, lifting to trembling gold, dipping to deep violet, moving in soft waves of sound. 

Green like soft willow leaves, falling like tears to a forest floor. 

Blue like bruises under sleepless eyes. 

When the song ended, he started it over. 

And again. 

_too small to matter_  
_but big enough to cut me into so many little pieces_  
_if i try to touch her_

The crescendo to the chorus lifted to scarlet and edged to Arcadian black. 

_and i bleed_  
_i bleed_  
_and i breathe_  
_i breathe no more_

Red like his own bloodstained lips. 

Green like a hungry oak. 

Blue like a pair of guileless eyes. 

_take a breath and i try to draw from my spirit’s well_  
_yet again you refuse to drink like a stubborn child_

Virgil added slate, thinking about a dark gray faerie shore, water freezing against his numb ankles. 

He added titanium, remembering night skies studded white with all the stories Logan used to tell. 

_lie to me_  
_convince me that i’ve been sick forever_

He slashed his knife across all of them, and thought about flowers. 

He realized his face was wet again. 

_and all of this_  
_will make sense when i get better_

Sharp, feathery orange like street lamps, and loneliness, and Nic’s rhythmic claws on pavement. 

Ochre like a living room lamp, and the taste of faery rum heavy on his tongue. 

_but i know the difference_  
_between myself and my reflection_  
_i just can’t help but to wonder_

Middle note warm, and a grand streak of crimson that petered off in soft, wavering line. 

_which of us do you love?_

He inhaled, shakily, scrubbed his eyes and scrubbed the canvas, using his thumb as well as the palette knife now. 

_so i bleed_  
_i bleed_  
_and i breathe_  
_i breathe no_

A tear dripped onto his hand as he worked, warm and light and wavering yellow like his own knife strokes. 

_bleed_  
_i bleed_  
_and i breathe_

He started the song over one last time, pulling out the last of the red to the edges of the canvas, the chemical scent of paint a familiar balm to his senses. 

_i breathe_  
_i breathe_  
_i breathe no more_

He stepped back, studying the finished mess of shape and color. It was _good_. Powerful, bleak, probably one of his best. All the raw hurt inside translated to pigment, spilled across black, like he’d opened a wrist on the canvas. 

And he felt…not better, exactly, but quiet. Still, within his own mind. It was as much as he could ask for. 

He exhaled, and wiped his hands, and cleaned his knife and workspace. 

When he glanced out the window, he was shocked to see the blue of early morning. He grabbed his phone…fully charged now, _for fuck’s sake, how long had he been working?_ …and groaned when he saw that it was 7:06AM. 

Virgil’s last final was at 9; there was no point in trying to sleep now. 

He grabbed a change of clothes. The apartment was quiet; either the other two weren’t up yet, or they’d already left to go jogging. He slipped across the hall to shower and change…his hoodie was still gross, but there was no time to wash it…and to put on fresh eyeshadow. 

He would have to buy more makeup, at the rate he kept crying through it. 

His brain perked up a bit after dousing it in Commons coffee. He didn’t remember making the trek to campus at all. 

He waited on the same bench by Holler Fountain until his final began. Luckily for him, it was drawing, which meant all he had to do was mumble a few words about his project and pinch himself awake during the rest of the presentations. 

It was easy not to think when you were too tired to form a complete sentence. 

He remembered walking out of Sampson Hall and his stomach growling, and realizing he hadn’t eaten anything since the day before. He picked at a breakfast sandwich in the little campus cafe, so sleep deprived he barely tasted it, and stumbled back to the apartment in a haze.

He did remember to strip off his hoodie and throw it in the wash, hoping it would survive. 

The next thing he knew, he awoke in his bed, bleary and delirious. It was dark outside, his stomach was complaining again, and "Guns and Ships" was blaring full blast from his nightstand. 

Oh…his phone. That’s probably what had woken him up. 

He grabbed for it, nearly missing in his clumsiness. 

“…’lo?” he muttered hoarsely. 

“I am not Logan, you silly changeling, I’m Roman!” Princey’s voice boomed, making Virgil wince and hold the phone away from his face. 

Fuck, he’d answered a video call and hadn’t even realized it. Roman’s dark eyes abruptly zoomed in, narrowing as they took in Virgil’s face. 

“Were you asleep? You look like absolute shit,” he said in a more normal voice. 

Virgil groaned and ran a hand through his bangs, sitting up in his bed. 

“Is…is this a bad time?” Roman went on, sounding less confident by the second. “I just thought, since you were done with your finals—” 

“Roman, will you shut up for two seconds,” Virgil snapped, losing patience. 

Roman shut up. 

Virgil sighed, scrubbing his head again. The canvas from this morning caught his eye and he momentarily lost himself in the pools and splatters of color. 

The aching knot in his chest had been temporarily sated with paint and sleep deprivation, but he’d also seen neither Patton nor Logan today. Once he did, once he was forced to exist in their space and interact and pretend nothing was wrong, it was only a matter of time before the flowers returned. 

And with them the thorns, and hurt, and blood. 

And next time, there might not be a hungry Dryad waiting to syphon away the pain and pull him back from the brink. 

“Virgil,” Roman murmured, sounding uneasy. “You are making a scary face right now.” 

Virgil let out a slow, measured breath. 

He knew what he needed to do. 

“Can I come to Philadelphia?” 

Roman opened his mouth and Virgil braced himself for a deluge of questions: _why now, why would you change your mind, what happened, what happened, what happened…?_

“Okay.” 

Virgil side-eyed his screen. 

“Really? Just like that?” 

Roman shrugged. “I’ll get Kate to arrange it. I…may have told her to expect something like this.” 

Virgil grimaced sourly. That was Roman: presumptuous to a fault. But it was difficult to be angry when he’d turned out to be right. 

“Can you wait a couple days while we arrange plane tickets and stuff?” 

Virgil pressed his lips together. “I can afford my own ticket, Roman.” 

“Nonsense! Smile does this kind of thing all the time,” Roman countered, waving a hand. “Seriously, don’t waste your money. You’re going to have to quit your job to do this, remember?” 

Virgil hadn’t considered that, yet. He’d have to call them tomorrow. They’d hate him…but who didn’t, at this point? 

“You keep looking at me like…” Roman smiled, weakly. “Do you _want_ to talk about it?” 

Virgil scoffed. “No.” 

“That’s what I thought.” Roman touched his nose and waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll call you back with details, ok? Go eat or dye your bangs or something; you look like a starved troll.” 

“Thanks, Princey.” Virgil rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Seriously, though. Thank you.” 

Roman clicked his tongue with a cheeky grin and hung up. 

Virgil got up, made sure nobody was around, and moved his hoodie to the dryer. While it dried, he pulled up his Tumblr and composed a long, rambling post. 

The dryer buzzed. 

He collected his hoodie, pulling it around himself and reveling in the warmth. 

He posted his rant. 

Then, before he could second guess himself, he extracted his duffle bag from his closet and began to pack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asphodel:  
>  _my regrets follow you to the grave_
> 
> Dear readers, believe it or not the angst train has rounded a corner, and there's a tiny bit of light at the end of the tunnel. 
> 
> Also, if you're in the US and experiencing election anxiety (like me 😬), just know that whatever happens, we'll get through this. Be safe!


	30. Rue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting out...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Runaway Gray" by Phantasma

_runaway gray_  
_taking me away_  
_drift with the clouds to better days_

He snuck out like a thief in the night, taking only two stuffed duffle bags and his backpack.

For the three days Virgil spent in his room while Roman arranged the trip, Logan and Patton made only minimal efforts to check on him. Possibly, _likely_ , they meant it as a respectful gesture, to give him his space. Or…maybe Virgil had finally pissed Logan off enough that the half-faery had stopped caring. 

It was easier to contemplate leaving, assuming the latter. 

One Uber ride and one bus ticket later, Virgil was on his way to Orlando.

Virgil knew he needed to tell them. But what would he _say_? How could he possibly explain that it wasn’t them, that they hadn’t done anything wrong, it was _him_. Him and his stupid, pathetic feelings and his thorny, out of control powers. Patton would be heartbroken, and Logan…

Virgil had no idea how Logan would react. 

So he put it off, and put it off, and then it was the day before his early morning flight and he still hadn’t said a word.

One hotel reservation, one nearly sleepless night, and one shuttle ride later, Virgil was sitting at his gate and guiltily checking his phone for messages. 

He did leave Logan a note. 

Weeks later, when the guilt ate at him and he couldn’t sleep, he reminded himself that his first impression of Logan had been an absence and a note. Virgil was merely bringing it around full circle. He’d tucked the note against his easel where his last painting still sat, stark and red and brimming with all the unconfessed feelings he meant to leave behind. 

The bear pendant, too, still hung where he’d left it that awful night.

He left all his other paintings, too; not as any sort of message, but simply because he didn’t know what else to do with them. Roman had warned him that his murder lived in a tiny apartment complex and didn’t have much space. As a former Rennie, Virgil was well-acquainted with a lifestyle that demanded sparse possessions. 

He took only what he could carry.

He’d gotten a few messages that morning; enough for Virgil to know Logan had noticed his absence, not enough to tell him whether or not the half-faery knew he’d run off to join a murder cult. He deleted the texts without reading them.

Two and a half hours later, he landed in Philadelphia. 

Roman and an older woman with a stern, acne-scarred face met him at the baggage claim, and something in Virgil’s heart settled the moment he laid eyes on the other changeling. 

_How did_ Princey _turn into the one person in the world I can truly count on?_

Roman’s wide mouth split into a toothy grin as he approached, but he forewent a hug in favor of grabbing Virgil’s hand in a strong clasp. 

“Smile!” he crooned, pulling out his phone and yanking him close. Before Virgil could do more than scowl, he’d taken a selfie of them both. Virgil huffed and shoved him away, but Roman was already posting it on his stupid Instagram page.

“You aren’t wearing your sword,” Virgil blurted out.

Roman rolled his eyes and pocketed his phone. 

“Well, good to see you too, Jack Smellington. Despite what you may think,” he added with a huff, “Even I am not foolish enough to carry a weapon into an airport.”

“Mmm, debatable,” Virgil teased, spotting his second duffle bag on the turnstile and grabbing it. Roman made one of his trademarked offended noises, something Virgil hadn’t realized he’d missed. He swallowed a smile.

“Virgil, this is my mentor,” Roman said, nodding to his companion, who’d been silently observing them.

“Katherine Gardener-Conroy, co-founder of Smile and head of the Philadelphia murder,” the woman said crisply, but then made a sour face. “Good lord, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that, doesn’t it?”

A surprised chuckle burst out of Virgil and he quickly covered his mouth. The woman grinned and held out her hand for Virgil to timidly shake. 

“Everyone on my team calls me Kate,” she added with a kind smile. She looked to be in her early 40s, with braided frizzy blond hair, fierce green eyes, and a wide-hipped, matronly build. No changeling color ring around her pupils, Virgil noted with surprise. He’d known that Smile recruited ordinary humans as well as changelings, but seeing it in person was jarring. 

Roman and Kate each took one of Virgil’s duffle bags, Virgil shouldered his backpack, and they all headed toward the exit, where Kate said her wife was waiting with a van. 

“So, Roman has probably filled you in, but our main goal right now is recruiting as many hunters and Grimm chapters as we can to lay our trap,” Kate explained, just softly enough that they wouldn’t be overheard. “Your faery is well-known, it turns out, and a notoriously tricky bastard. Several murders have had him in their grasp only to have him escape at the last moment. I believe the more people we have, the less likely that is to happen again.”

“Also,” Roman added, shooting Virgil a pointed look, “we’ve renewed the search for Rapunzel. It’s looking more and more likely that Deceit’s ‘home base’ outside of Arcadia is here, somewhere in the city. If so, he could be hiding her nearby.”

Virgil’s eyebrows lifted; Roman hadn’t told him any of this over the phone. He had made _Rapunzel’s_ whereabouts a Smile priority? 

_I didn’t think Roman was_ ever _that fond of Logan. But…_

He shot a look at Roman, whose eyes skittered away. 

_But maybe he’s still that fond of me._

Virgil wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He also really, _really_ didn’t want to think about Logan.

Philadelphia was dreary and overcast, the occasional wind gust whipping through their hair. Virgil, for the first time in nearly two years, was actually glad of his hoodie. 

“Thank _fuck_ it’s cooler here,” he commented to Roman, spreading his arms. 

Then he cringed, glancing at Roman’s mentor. She seemed cool, but he didn’t know how she felt about swearing. 

Kate only laughed.

“That’s us,” she said, pointing out an idling minivan, then continued her previous conversation. “Along with recruitment and training, we’ve been working with the local Grimm chapter to get a handle on the oddest rash of kidnappings I’ve ever seen.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Somebody’s been stealing fetches,” Roman said. “All across the northeast. It started several weeks ago and nobody’s been able to figure out a pattern, or motive.”

“Fetches?” Virgil repeated, his pulse spiking like it always did when that word was mentioned.

“And not even new ones.” Kate shook her head. “They’re taking adults, and teenagers: fetches that have lived as human for years and years. Most of them probably don’t even know what they are.”

Virgil frowned. 

_That would explain why Roman brought up fetches out of the blue during that one phone call we had. But…_ “What would a faery do with grown-up fetches?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Kate shrugged. “But it started not long after Deceit was first seen in this area. It has to be connected.”

As they approached the van, another early 40s-ish woman climbed out of the driver’s seat, her dark face breaking into a soft smile. She was shorter than Kate by nearly a head, more petite, with distinctly Indian features. She wore a leaf green sari and a red bindi between her eyebrows.

She and Kate shared a kiss. Virgil couldn’t help but stare. 

As a Rennie he’d known a few queer couples, but never a married one. And after living for so many months in tiny, conservative DeLand, it was refreshing to see one display their obvious affection in public. 

(Even if Patton’s family _hadn’t_ disapproved of his and Logan’s relationship, those two would still have had to keep their PDA on the down low in some areas). 

Virgil mentally smacked himself. 

_I am_ not _thinking about Logan!_

“Virgil, I’d like you to meet my wife.” Kate’s mouth twitched in a small grin. “Malila.”

For some reason, Roman snorted at this, but Malila only rolled her eyes and held out her hand. Virgil shook it, narrowing his eyes. 

Malila, unlike Kate, bore stark blue changeling rings in her brown eyes…which would make her the oldest changeling Virgil had ever met. He startled when she reached up and brushed away his fringe of bangs.

“Roman is right. You have beautiful rings,” she said in a low, whispery voice. “You should not hide them.”

Then Kate and Roman were piling his bags in the back and they were all piling inside.

Virgil settled into the worn leather seat and glanced at Roman, who looked back with mysterious, slightly smug expression as they started the drive towards the local Smile headquarters. 

_He…he thinks my eyes are beautiful?_

“As a new recruit, most of your time will be consumed with training,” Kate said, twisting to face the back seats. “Learning to fight, learning to track, that sort of thing.”

“Hang on, I thought…” Virgil glanced at Roman, who frowned. “I’m a recruit? I mean, Roman kind of talked about teaching me, but…”

Kate blinked. “If you train with Smile, you are Smile. Isn’t that why you came to us?”

_Heck no._

But…thinking about it, of course Roman couldn’t just invite a random friend to come crash with him. If Virgil was going to stay here, with Smile, for any length of time, he couldn’t exactly expect to sit on his ass all day long, moping about…well. 

“It’s just, I don’t know anything at all about fighting and whatever,” Virgil said, changing tactics. “Isn’t ‘recruit’ something you have to, I dunno, qualify for?”

“That’s what training is _for_. You’ll be what I am,” Roman explained, nudging his shoulder. “A trainee.”

“You still aren’t a proper hunter? I thought by now…” Virgil said with a frown.

Roman shrugged. “Haven’t killed my faery yet.” 

He said it nonchalantly, but an undertone of frustration bled through.

“I thought you weren’t allowed back until you did?” Virgil asked.

Kate reached back to pat Roman’s knee; he’d crossed his arms and started to pout.

“Deceit is a bit of an unusual case,” she explained. “And as Roman is my trainee, I have some sway in his situation. We needed him here.”

“‘You are on this Council’,” Roman quoted grouchily. “‘But we do not grant you the rank of master.’”

“Roman.” Kate’s voice grew sharp and Roman winced, folding his arms more tightly around himself.

“You’ll have another shot,” she said more gently. “Once we can move against Deceit and ensure he doesn’t escape, he’s all yours.”

Roman smiled; a mirthless, knife-edged thing. The expression, coupled with his red-ringed irises, made him look almost feral. Virgil swallowed. Somehow it kept slipping his mind that Smile hunters were basically assassins.

_And now I have to learn to be one, too?_

“Hey, you know Smile isn’t something you have to stick with forever, okay?” Roman said, catching Virgil’s wide-eyed expression. “Plenty of trainees take years to get to the point where they’d have to kill to advance.”

“You aren’t signing your life away,” Kate said gently.

“Who’s my teacher?” Virgil asked.

“Me!” Roman sang. Virgil was pretty sure if he hadn’t been buckled in, he would have twirled in a circle. 

Virgil raised an eyebrow at Kate, who nodded.

“Since Roman recruited you…and since he is a full hunter in all but name…then yes, he gets to teach you,” she added with a chuckle. “You’ll both be evaluated at intervals, if you decide you want to join missions, but most of your training will be left in Roman’s capable hands.”

“Sounds very Sith,” Virgil teased. “Do I get my own red lightsaber if I do good?”

Roman snorted.

“Just continuing the Star Wars theme you started,” Virgil pointed out.

“And you decided we were Sith?” Roman complained. “Rude.”

Kate outright laughed.

“Well, that’s how we’ve operated since Johnny Prince’s day. It allows our recruits to learn the skills they need without the organization being bogged down with scores of students relying on certain teachers.”

From the driver’s seat, Malila chimed in for the first time. “We Grimms operate in much the same way, you know.” 

Her voice was so soft Virgil had to lean forward to hear her.

“You’re a Grimm?” he asked. He figured, being Kate’s wife, that she’d be in Smile.

Malila simply nodded. 

“Ask her which chapter she’s from,” Roman murmured, his eyes sparkling. 

Kate, too, wore an amused expression.

Virgil was definitely missing something about this woman.

“For the last few years, I’ve worked mainly with the Erie chapter.” Malila offered, catching Virgil’s eye in the rear view mirror and smiling. “But originally, I was from Cassadaga.”

Virgil inhaled sharply, and Roman grinned. 

_Cassadaga is the_ Founders’ _chapter._

(Cassadaga also happened to be located less than 10 miles from DeLand, or so Logan had once told him.)

(Virgil was _not thinking about Logan_.)

“Tell him your Grimm name, love,” Kate chuckled, brushing her wife’s arm with her knuckle. “Don’t keep the poor boy in suspense.”

“You likely know me as Rosa,” Malila explained. 

Virgil’s eyes grew wider. 

Rosa, short for Rosamond; a.k.a, _Sleeping Beauty_. 

All of the Founders, at least according to Hedgerow legend, possessed unusually strong changeling abilities. Rosa’s was a doozy; she was rumored to be able to cause anyone within certain distance to fall asleep instantly. Now that he was able to put a name with her face, Virgil kicked himself for not recognizing her immediately. 

“Oh, I hate this indecisive weather,” Kate complained, waving her hand at the overcast sky. “‘Piss or get off the pot’ as they say.”

Malila…or rather, Rosa…chuckled. “I’m not sure that saying should apply to clouds, love.”

“Why not?”

“Think about it.”

Pause.

“ _Rosa_ , that is disgusting—”

“You could have warned me your mentor is married to a Founder,” Virgil complained softly to Roman as the two women bickered in that sweet, long-established couple-y way. 

Roman smirked.

“I wanted to see your face when you figured it out,” he teased, earning an elbow in the side. 

Virgil’s Hedgerow teachers had never bothered to mention the fact that Founder Rosa was gay. (Then again, they apparently had no idea Founder Rapunzel had a son by a faery, so…)

A cough bubbled up his throat, which he hid in his hoodie sleeve. 

_Damn it._

He _had_ to stop letting his thoughts circle back to _him_. 

Neither woman noticed, but Roman shot him a concerned look. Virgil met it with a warning glare, and turned to stare out the window.

They drove through a downtown-like area; tall, red-bricked buildings lined the streets, warm against the cool gray sky. Virgil pressed his forehead against the glass and calculated which oil colors he’d need to mix to create the shades he saw. The scenery and the exercise quieted his exhausted mind.

At last they pulled off the main road onto a cobbled side street, and then into the tiny parking lot of a red-bricked apartment complex. 

Roman, in his eagerness, slung a duffle bag from each shoulder and scurried across the lot, leaving Virgil to scramble for his backpack. He made sure to cackle when Roman almost lost his balance getting the door open. 

“And _you’re_ supposed to teach me to fight?” he sniggered, grabbing a bag off Princey’s arm.

“Shut up!” Roman protested, cheeks darkening. “What did you pack anyway, rocks?”

He seized the duffle back once the door closed, and led them down a dingy hallway.

“As far as training goes, we’ll start slow,” he said, pausing at an apartment door and producing a set of keys, “lots of conditioning, that kind of thing.” 

“Sounds awful,” Virgil muttered.

Roman opened the door and strode inside. Virgil followed, eying the small apartment, starkly different from…well. 

Meager kitchen straight ahead with a tiny window; tiny, narrow bathroom off to the left. Small, square, living-slash-dining space with a battered red couch, a few beanbag seats, a TV, and a few TV trays to the right. Around the corner from the living space, an archway led down into a bedroom with two twin beds.

The apartment was a sparse, almost Spartan setup, but for the walls. These were covered in a dizzying variety of graffiti: swirls and birds, splotches and music notes, spirals and clouds. The floor in the bedroom was bare concrete and had received the same colorful treatment. 

It was this, along with a familiar katana stashed in a corner and some of Roman’s clothes strewn across one of the beds, that informed Virgil as to whose space this was.

“Yeah, so…” Roman let Virgil’s bags slip to the floor and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Are you okay bunking with me? I swear I’m not trying to, like…” He trailed off, his shoulders high and tense. 

“It’s just, trainers and trainees usually share living quarters. Kate stays in here when Rosa is away on Grimm business, but since she’s kind of the exception, usually it’s just me. I know you’re used to your own space, but…there really aren’t a lot of other open rooms right now, and…”

Virgil laid a hand on Roman’s arm, both touched and exasperated at how worked up he was getting over this.

“Relax, Princey. I get it, not much space, yada yada. This is fine.” He gestured at the walls. “You do this?”

Roman laughed. “Who do you think I am, _you_?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but his cheeks warmed.

“Apparently a bunch of artist types owned this building before Kate bought it off them for cheap,” Roman explained. “Honestly, the whole complex is run down, water pressure is shit and you gotta do laundry in the basement, but, eh,” and he shrugged, “it’s home. And the decor is cool.”

“Anyway, Kate and some of the members with steady jobs keep a pantry in the common space, but we’re kind of on our own as far as cooking goes. I can make us some lunch and tomorrow—”

Roman was interrupted by an obnoxious tinny pop song in his pocket. 

He pulled out his phone, glanced at the number, frowned, shot a look at Virgil…and Virgil, with a bolt of dread, knew exactly who was on the other end. 

After all, it had been an entire day since his disappearance, and he’d been pointedly ignoring his own phone since he’d landed. Without a response from Virgil, Logan would call Patton, and then Virgil’s work. (At which point he would discover Virgil had quit, unexpectedly, days ago.) 

And once those options failed to produce Virgil’s whereabouts, he would try Roman. 

Logan was nothing if not methodical. 

“Wikipedia! Long time no hear,” Roman proclaimed cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

As Virgil watched, the smile slid away and he held the phone closer to his face. He listened, brows knitting, and his concerned dark eyes came to rest on Virgil, who bit his lip. 

Yeah…he might have also neglected to warn Roman that he’d left without a word.

“Uh…yeah, I have. He’s, uh, fine,” Roman stammered in a rather strangled voice, still looking Virgil straight in the eye. 

Then he snorted, and sighed.

“Yes, he’s standing right in front of me.”

Virgil huffed and folded his arms, caught. He hadn’t intended to keep his whereabouts a secret _forever_ , but…he’d expected to have at least, like, a day. Just to sort out his conflicted feelings.

Logan wasn’t even _here_ , and somehow he still managed to make Virgil feel like a disobedient child. 

Roman continued listening, occasionally offering one word responses. Then:

“Um, maybe?” 

He held the phone out to Virgil, whose eyes widened and who shook his head, frantically. Roman sighed, momentarily closing his eyes.

“No, I…guess he doesn’t want to.” 

Silence.

“No, he had _not_ told me why,” he said in a fiercer voice, making Virgil wince. “But I’ll ask.”

Silence.

“Yeah, I’ll keep you updated. Sure. You, too. Bye.”

He hung up, and then stuffed both hands in his jean jacket pockets. Virgil sat on the empty bed; his fingers dug into the mattress.

“I have to assume,” Roman began quietly, “that your reasons for coming here so suddenly are related to your reasons for keeping Logan completely and utterly in the dark about it?”

Virgil scrubbed at his sleeves. 

“I couldn’t face him,” he admitted miserably, fighting the warmth building in his chest. “I was afraid…I was afraid, if I tried to tell him, I’d never find the courage to leave.”

Roman sighed, long and hard, and sat on the other bed.

“Well, frankly, that’s a shitty way to treat someone who took you in, gave you a home, protected you, became a friend to you. But I’m guessing you know that.”

Virgil scowled and looked away. 

“And I’m guessing Patton doesn’t know either; otherwise Logan wouldn’t have needed to call me. But…” 

Roman rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I get it, Virgil. I don’t like it, but I get it.”

“It’s just, you were right,” Virgil added, swallowing. “I needed out. Maybe I’m a coward, but…”

Roman crossed the room to sit next to Virgil, careful not to touch him. 

“I get that you can’t talk to him now,” he said in a gentle voice. “Probably not Patton either. But in a few days, you know you should.”

Virgil stared at his lap, refusing to acknowledge this. 

Eventually Roman worked up the nerve to rub his back, and Virgil, starved for comfort, hid his face with his bangs and let him do it. The other changeling’s hand was warm, and broad, and reassuring.

Tomorrow, he could set boundaries. 

Tomorrow, presumably, Roman would start teaching him karate or whatever, and Virgil would have things to think about other than Logan, Logan, _Logan_ …and the fact that he’d run away.

But for now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rue:  
>  _regret_
> 
> Edit: Holy heck, they just called Pennsylvania for Biden while I was uploading this 😮 And Virgil's gone to Philadelphia! The stars are aligned, it was meant to be 🤯🤩


	31. Jonquil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil does a little thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Finding Myself" by Smile Empty Soul
> 
> Sorry this update is a bit later today than usual; we've got a hurricane headed our way, so I had a lot of things to take care of this morning :p Let's hope we don't lose power!

_and i thought that i found myself today_  
_and i thought that i had control_

“Ready?”

Roman hit a button on his watch and crouched in a wide-legged stance across the grassy courtyard, wooden bokken held a gloved, one-handed grip in front of his chest. He wore loose black pants and an old pink tank top, the stretched sleeve holes hanging past his waist. His mane had been somewhat tamed into a stubby ponytail, his face hidden by a fencing helmet.

Virgil, similarly dressed (though his tank was a sensible black, thank you very much!), adjusted his gloved grip on his own wooden practice knives and tensed. The face-covering helmet he wore was Roman’s spare, and a little too big. 

“Whatever, Doctor Do-the-Most,” he grumbled.

“Ha! That was almost clever.” 

Roman lunged on the last word, bokken whistling, but Virgil was prepared. He caught the blow with both knives and turned it aside, coming at the other changeling with an overhand strike. Roman blocked, and countered, causing Virgil to stumble back.

The thwack of wood against wood (and occasionally, wood against a helmet’s metal grill) echoed off the complex walls. Roman’s eyes sparkled as he fought, sometimes stepping back to twirl his weapon around his body just because he could. 

He enjoyed this.

Virgil wished he could say the same.

Both were panting…in Virgil’s case, borderline wheezing…sweat dripping down their backs. Early July in Pennsylvania wasn’t brutal like Florida, but it was a hot day. Virgil barely blocked another blow, exhaustion welling up in his limbs. It was only a matter of time before Roman came at him with something clever and sent him sprawling to the ground.

It had only been a month, but to Virgil, it felt like an eternity.

Roman had put him through the most grueling exercise regimen of his life: endurance runs around the city, every possible variety of “up” (sit-up, pushup, V-up), weights, even Yoga three times a week. 

Virgil hated every second of it. 

He threw up twice the first day, then threw himself on his bed and refused to move for nearly twelve hours. Roman let him have a day to sulk, and then woke him up at the asscrack of dawn to start it all over again. 

He was relentless, and eventually Virgil gave in just to shut him up.

This cycle repeated nearly every week. His pride spurred him to throw himself into Roman’s misery fests, knowing his only other alternative was to go crawling back to Logan. He’d push himself until he physically crashed (and it was _embarrassing_ to wheeze and stumble and occasionally retch his way through exercises that barely winded Roman), then spend the next day in bed, miserable and aching. 

Roman assured him, over and over again, that it would get easier. He was never detoured by Virgil’s slow, inconsistent pace and snarky, stubborn attitude; he just explained, and demonstrated, and encouraged. In fact for all his dramatics and ego, Roman wasn’t a terrible teacher; a fact Virgil might have appreciated if he felt less wretched.

The other changeling insisted that they warm up properly, that they stretched, that Virgil learn proper form so he didn’t hurt himself, that they always spotted each other while doing weights, and he always cooled them down afterward no matter how loudly Virgil protested he just wanted to collapse. 

And after a solid month of this, Virgil _did_ notice that he could run further, could do more repetitions before hitting the “please let me die” phase of a workout. For a span of days in June, he’d actually almost started to feel proud of the (reluctant, begrudging) progress he’d made. 

He’d even caught his own reflection in the full length mirror once before a shower and doubled back, surprised, running hands over his own ribs. He would probably always be thin and wiry, but his arms and chest were actually starting to gain a little definition.

(Then he rolled his eyes at himself for ogling his own muscles, like _Roman_.)

Then they’d started martial arts. And despite Virgil being stronger and more in shape than he’d ever been in his life, he was no match for Roman’s skill. 

Even now, while Virgil was giving everything he had to this sparring match, panting and stumbling and striking anywhere he could reach, he could tell that Roman was strategically holding back…until inevitably, he wasn’t. Roman struck with a twisting move, bokken easily parting Virgil’s defenses, and Virgil found himself flat on his back with a wooden point at his neck.

“Ha! I have vanquished you, Dragon Witch!” Roman crowed, yanking off his helmet and doing a fancy sword twirl. 

Roman took a childlike delight in winning, which needled at Virgil’s hyper-sensitive, low self esteem. Their first sparring match had devolved into a proper red-faced, name-calling fight when Roman easily bested Virgil’s clumsy attempts to wield knives, over and over again.

“You couldn’t let me win just once?” Virgil had yelled, throwing them to the ground. “You don’t have to prove you’re fucking better at this than me; I already know! Do you have to rub it in my face that I suck?”

Roman had folded his arms, implacable. “I won’t coddle you, Virgil, because neither will a faery. The day you beat me is the day you no longer need me as a teacher.”

And Virgil had no argument for that. 

His cheeks still burned with shame when he was bested. Every. Damned. Time.

Present day Roman hit the button on his watch, and held out a hand.

“A ‘dragon witch’, Princey?” Virgil snarked as he allowed Roman to pull him to his feet. “Shouldn’t it be one or the other?”

He pulled off his own helmet in relief, tucking it under his arm. The stupid things were bulky, and hot, and hard to see out of, but Roman insisted upon them for weapon sparring. 

(Virgil had complained, the first time he had to wear one. Roman promptly grabbed a practice sword and whacked him in his fully protected, helmeted face. Virgil never griped about them again.)

“Oh, get an imagination, Robert Downer Jr,” Roman snarked, looking at his watch. “Anyway! That went well, so I think we can call it for today.”

Virgil huffed, pulling off his gloves. 

“Whatever. You win, again.”

“But you lasted thirty seconds longer than you did last week.” Roman gathered their weapons, and the two started towards the complex doors. 

“Thirty whole seconds, woo.” Virgil waved his hands sarcastically.

“Believe it or not, your endurance is improving every day, and honestly that’s the most important thing.” Roman’s mouth twisted. “Unless you manage to kill a faery on your first strike, you have to outlast them, and that means endurance.”

They deposited their gear in the complex’s common room, where the murder’s training equipment and weapons were stored.

“You’re also getting decently good with those knives,” Roman continued as they walked to their room, and held up a forestalling hand when Virgil opened his mouth. “I know you hate them—”

“I don’t hate them, Princey, I just suck at hand-to-hand stuff,” Virgil cut in sardonically.

“And I know you want to start learning archery,” Roman went on. “But you need a melee weapon, and with your build, I think the knives are a good choice.”

Virgil sighed, running hands through his sweaty hair. 

After the first week, he’d all but given up reminding Roman that the only reason he was here because staying with Logan had become unbearable, and until Deceit was dead, Virgil needed protection. 

And _maybe_ so Virgil could learn a little self-defense. 

But for the most part, Virgil didn’t _care_ about the merits of one weapon versus another, or the history of some obscure Kung Fu technique, or the nuance between Seelie and Unseelie weaknesses. He didn’t love this life the way Roman did, and after a month of misery, he doubted he ever would. 

“The whole point of teaching me archery is so that I can stay as far from the melee as possible,” Virgil pointed out as they clomped inside Roman’s tiny apartment. “Since, like I said, I suck at it.”

“You don’t suck.” Roman grabbed some towels, and they plopped down on the beat up couch. 

Virgil ran fingers through his sweaty bangs again. He’d re-dyed them purple, and, in an act of daring on his third week here, he’d shaved the sides and back. The resulting style was meaner, edgier, and Virgil liked it.

“You don’t have the upper body strength to pull a bow yet,” Roman pointed out, wiping his face. “I mean, you _will_ , eventually.” His voice dropped, and softened. “Obviously.”

Virgil had lifted his arms to towel off his head, causing his tank top to pull away from his torso. 

Roman’s gaze flickered over him and then away, flushing. He cleared his throat. 

“But right now I suspect archery would be unnecessarily frustrating.”

Virgil knew that Roman _noticed_ the changes his insane workouts had wrought on Virgil’s body. On more than one occasion, he’d caught the other changeling watching him, all dark eyes and dark cheeks and bitten lower lip. 

He would bluster and deflect at Virgil’s raised eyebrow or his sardonic “what?”, but…the tension between them had become a proverbial troll in the room. 

For now, it was easier to ignore.

“Fair enough,” Virgil allowed, shrugging. “Knives are more concealable, anyway.”

“They’re fast, too,” Roman agreed, grinning. “And you, by the way, are getting really fast. In fact, when you aren’t tired, you’re already almost faster than me.”

“I’m always tired,” Virgil deadpanned, but then he looked away. “But…really?”

Coming from Roman, that was a compliment.

“Obviously I’ll always have the advantage of superior strength,” Roman added regally, unabashedly flexing an arm. It _was_ a nicely muscled arm, but Virgil would eat a pixie wing before admitting _that_ out loud. 

Instead he scoffed and elbowed the other changeling in the side.

“I’m gonna go shower,” he said. “You always use up all the hot water when I let you go first.”

“ _Fine_ , but don’t take too long. The Fourth awaits, and beauty like this requires time and sacrifice!” 

Roman gestured at himself, drawing another eye roll from Virgil, who grabbed a change of clothes and headed into the tiny bathroom. 

The shower was barely big enough for one person, and Roman had been right about the shitty water pressure, but Virgil had lived with worse. He flicked on the vent, shed his clothes, moved a few of Roman’s conditioner bottles out of the way, and stepped under the spray. 

(If he still missed the spare bathroom in Logan’s apartment…well). 

Roman’s training generally exhausted him to the point where he didn’t think about much of anything in the shower besides his own aching limbs, or whatever bit of Kung Fu he’d been given to memorize. Virgil preferred it that way. For as long as the universe would allow it, he wanted nothing more than to just drift. 

Thinking was dangerous. 

Thinking always led back to… _him_. 

Virgil exhaled and thunked his head on the tiled wall, already gripping his chest against the cough he felt building. Roman didn’t know…or at least, Virgil hoped Roman didn’t know…that despite leaving DeLand behind, the attacks had never stopped. 

He dropped to his knees and coughed, bringing up petals he knew he’d have to meticulously fish out. The attacks were shorter, now, at least; less intense, less bloody, nothing approaching the night he’d painted Bleed No More. But it worried Virgil that they hadn’t completely let up. 

The attack eased after a few minutes, leaving his throat on fire. He examined the long, yellow petals…no blood at all, this time around, he noted…and thought they might be jonquils. 

_Unrequited love_ , he thought, _or selfishness, depending on which dictionary you use._

Both felt apt.

He wasn’t blind to Roman’s feelings. By choosing to come here, by living with him, training at his side day by day, Virgil knew he was leading the guy on, whether he meant to or not. It was even worse because Virgil had no desire to join Smile, once Deceit was no longer a threat.

Yet he stayed. 

He stayed, even though his treacherous heart still beat for someone a thousand miles away…someone who didn’t even _care_. Virgil awoke nearly every morning feeling like he was on some extended vacation, that any day now he would be heading back to Florida and Logan like nothing had ever happened…

Like _Patton_ had never happened.

Like Roman wouldn’t be utterly heartbroken if Virgil simply _left_.

Virgil smacked his hand on the tile floor, relishing the flash of pain, and then did it again.

Roman was an idealistic, hopeless romantic. If Virgil asked him to leave Kate and Smile behind and go back to Florida with him, he would. He _would_ , even if Virgil offered nothing in return but insipid friendship, and doubts, and thorns, and used, secondhand affection. 

It wasn’t fair, and Virgil was a shitty, _shitty_ person for even contemplating it.

He stood and shampooed his hair, hating how numb he’d become to the notion of barfing up flowers on the regular, and then using the remains to psychoanalyze his inner self. 

Virgil had this argument with conscience almost every night. If he had any real morals, any real love for anyone but himself, he would leave and spare Roman any further hurt. But he was too cowardly to go back to Logan, and too scared of being recaptured if he struck out on his own.

So he stayed.

Virgil shut off the water and got out, wiping the mirror so he could see his reflection. Inner turmoil aside, the dark bruises under his eyes looked softer nowadays; when he applied eyeshadow, it was purely for the aesthetic. 

Intense physical activity meant he had to sleep more regularly, eat better. As he brushed his teeth and dabbed on a little patchouli oil, he thought, maybe, that his eyes looked brighter, more confident. 

More at peace. 

_Traitor_ , his mind whispered.

_No_ , he corrected himself, pulling on a fresh pair of ripped black jeans and an Evanescence band shirt. (He and Roman might be going to a Fourth of July shindig tonight with a bunch of Smile, but that didn’t mean he was dressing up for them.) 

_Distance was good for me. I’m…I really am better off without him._

That triggered another cough, enough to momentarily steal his breath but not enough to produce petals. Virgil breathed in, and out, hand pressed over his chest, until the brambles cleared…and remembered to clean the jonquil petals out of the shower drain before he exited.

“Your turn, Romeo,” he said with a sharp grin when he emerged. 

Roman smirked, grabbed a fresh towel, and headed into the bathroom. 

“You do realize that would make you Juliet, you know,” he threw over his shoulder.

The door shut.

“It does not!” Virgil yelled.

The closed door laughed.

_Traitor_ , his mind whispered again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonquil:  
>  _desire for love to be returned_


	32. Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Roman go to a street party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Fourth of July" by Fall Out Boy
> 
> Other song(s):  
> "My Shot" from Hamilton

_i said i’d never miss you_  
_but i guess you never know_  
_may the bridges i have burned light my way back home_

Once Virgil heard the water turn on, he threw himself into his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling. 

His bored fingers reflexively itched for a pencil; he thought about the sketchbook in his backpack, untouched since his arrival here. He was just…never in the mood to draw, anymore. Getting it out only to stare endlessly at a blank page felt like too much trouble. 

In his pocket, his phone buzzed, prompting a familiar stab of shame. 

He hadn’t spoken to Patton since his disappearance a month ago.

At first, he and Logan had both texted daily. Maybe with questions, maybe with pleas, maybe with anger; Virgil didn’t know, because he deleted every message unread. He just…wasn’t ready to face what he’d done to his friends. 

Besides, he knew they also talked to Roman, and that Roman kept them updated.

Logan gave up first, as Virgil suspected he would. The half-faery was simply too pragmatic to keep attempting to contact a person who clearly didn’t want to be contacted. 

(Knowing that did little to mitigate the pinch of hurt Virgil felt every time he cleared his messages and didn’t see Logan’s name among them.)

Patton, however, was persistent. The sunny changeling texted four or five times a day at first, gradually petering off to one per day, then one every two days or so. They never stopped entirely though, and the longer Virgil’s one-sided silence dragged on, the worse he felt about it. 

What he’d done was especially unfair to Patton, whose only crime was winning Logan’s affection by being more attractive, more fun, and just an all around better person...

He sighed again, giving in and pulling out his phone; the text was, indeed, from Patton. Virgil unlocked the device and let his thumb hover over the notification…but he bit his lip and opened the photo app instead. 

Most of the pictures in here weren’t even his; Roman had a habit of stealing Virgil’s phone and snapping photos at inopportune moments, both for his stupid Instagram and because he apparently just enjoyed taking pictures. He’d done it in DeLand, and he continued to do it here. 

(To be fair, Virgil could have asked him to stop, but…it was harmless, and it pleased Roman, and Virgil honestly didn’t care in the long run.)

Because of that, there were far more pictures of _Virgil_ than Virgil would prefer: getting his current haircut, looking ridiculous in the middle of a knife form, glaring at the camera with a smear of pizza sauce on his mouth. Further up, there was him asleep on Logan’s sofa with his mouth open, him hanging a candy cane on the Christmas tree with Remy scowling in the background.

(If an ordinary human looked at that photo, Remy’s natural fae glamour would render him an unidentifiable blur.)

There were tons of selfies of him and a grinning Roman, every single one with Virgil looking like he’d been dragged into the frame against his will. 

There were selfies Roman had taken of all four of them, heads squished together, before everything had gone sideways. Roman with his trademark “cool arrogant” face, Patton’s megawatt grin, Logan’s stoic, emotionless amusement, and Virgil looking 1000% done. 

He swiped quickly through these.

Mixed in were photos Virgil had taken, mostly color splotches, abstract angles, leaves, patterns. A few black and white snapshots of Kate and Rosa sitting together on a bench in downtown Philadelphia, looking so adorably caught up in each other that Virgil hadn’t been able to resist. Some of Philadelphia itself: interesting buildings, flowers, a photogenic stray cat, random people. 

Further back, he swiped through several dozen photos taken around Stetson’s campus: Holler Fountain, a mottled red brick wall, the Arden Dryad’s tree, the lawn outside the library, until he found the few precious photos he was looking for.

His chest grew hot but the prickling was soft, manageable, so he allowed himself to indulge.

There was Logan, leaning against a streetlight on one of their evening walks, Nic sitting placidly at his feet. It was too far away to actually tell who it was if you didn’t know. Virgil had taken it because of the way the orange light illuminated the subtle muscles of Logan’s crossed arms.

There was Logan standing next to a cypress tree at Blue Springs on one of Florida’s few cool winter days, hair unbraided and pulled back, wearing a long black coat and dark jeans, hands in his pockets. He was looking out over the water, and Virgil had nearly fumbled the phone in his haste to capture that sharp, handsome profile cut against the trees and sky. 

There was he and Logan on that same trip when Virgil attempted a selfie of the two of them: Logan’s mouth quirked in amusement, Virgil looking awkward and anxious, but pleased.

There was Logan sitting on his bathroom counter, glasses perched the tip of his nose and arms raised, patiently taming his wild black hair into neat cornrows. 

Then there was a really horrible selfie of them and the Painter’s Pond pixies, attempted after dark. Virgil had discovered, to his embarrassment, that his phone’s flashlight and camera would not work at the same time, but tried to blind-capture them all anyway. Half of Virgil’s laughing face was out of frame, the pixies were winged blurs, Nic nothing but a wagging tail, while Logan’s mouth was open in mid-question. 

And the last: a series of Logan at the dining room table, mug of tea in his hand, mid-lecture. In the very last shot, Logan figured out that Virgil was recording him and was in the middle of raising his hand in protest, mouth open and eyebrows quirked.

“ _It was the fourth of July_ ,” Roman’s voice crooned as he danced into the bedroom. “ _You and I were, you and I were fire, fire, fireworks_.”

Virgil quickly shut off his screen, schooling his face to neutrality.

“ _That went off too soon, and I miss you in the June gloom too._ ” 

Roman sashayed to the dresser. Unlike Virgil, he wasn’t shy about prancing around the apartment in nothing but a pair of boxers and a towel on his head. He’d apparently done his makeup in the bathroom; his eyes were accented with gold eyeshadow, just enough to bring out their warmth.

(He knew he was _damned_ nice to look at, the bastard.)

“Fall Out Boy?” Virgil muttered, a smile quirking his lips. “You turning emo on me, Meta Knight?”

“And if I am, Hot Topic?” Roman retorted with a crooked grin, pulling out blue jeans, a white V-neck, and a dark denim jacket.

“Ooh, he still thinks I’m hot.” 

Virgil waggled his eyebrows, which earned him a mouthful of denim when Roman chucked said jacket into his face. 

He knew he shouldn’t tease Roman, but _damn_ , sometimes the guy just made it too easy. Once he’d freed his face, Roman had turned away and was wiggling into his pants. He preferred them on the tight side, claiming the hassle of getting them on was worth the looks they drew. 

Virgil unlocked his phone again, a little jolt shooting through his system as Logan’s cool gray eyes once again stared up at him. Mouth twisting, he closed the app.

“Look, either ball up and call the guy,” Roman said in a quieter voice, “or delete his number and be done with it.”

Virgil snapped his head up. The other changeling was dressed now, sitting on his bed and running a comb through his wild hair. 

“You aren’t as subtle as you think, you know,” he added blandly, noting Virgil’s glare. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Virgil muttered. 

“You always make that face when you’re thinking about him.” Roman traded the comb for a handful of some product, and fingers. “It’s been over a month. Stop tormenting yourself. Fucking call him, or cut him off.”

Virgil scoffed, to cover how the question made his heart race. 

“Like he’s tried to call me?” he said.

“Would you answer if he did?”

Virgil shrugged uncomfortably. Truthfully, he’d probably decline the call out of sheer terror. 

“Patton, then,” Roman said in a softer voice. “I know it’s fucking awkward, Virgil, but he really misses you.”

“I know.” 

Virgil sighed, and pulled up the text notification again, Patton’s unread message staring at him. He remembered the soft feeling of Patton curled up against him the night his parents had kicked him out; the way he’d listened to Virgil when he hadn’t even listened to _Logan_.

The way Logan had hugged him for that, afterward.

He felt sick with shame.

Roman retrieved a tiny glass bottle from his nightstand and dabbed a bit behind his ears. The scent of expensive, artificial cologne filled the small bedroom, making Virgil’s nose scrunch. It was light and woody and unusually floral for a man’s scent…a far cry from mahogany and teakwood.

Virgil hated that his brain still catalogued the differences.

“Patton’s not angry, you know,” Roman added. “I mean, he was upset at first, but I think he understands that you just needed space. If you’re worried about him giving you grief about leaving, don’t. He just wants to talk.”

“What about Logan?” Virgil asked softly. His chest burned just saying the name, but he didn’t dare let it show on his face.

Roman exhaled. 

“Do you really want to know?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. Well, now he _definitely_ did.

“Unlike our sweet understanding Watson, _Sherlock_ is still very much pissed. He plays it cool, but I hear it when I bring you up.” Roman’s mouth twisted. “He’s actually a lot like you…in that he buries his feelings inside other feelings. You get angry and snarky, whereas he shuts down entirely and goes full robot. Same panic, different disco.”

Virgil hated Roman’s wit sometimes.

“That’s…” he began, irritated, but then realized he’d only be proving Princey right. He bit his lip and shut up.

“He’s pissed because you hurt him, Virgil.” Roman frowned, leaning forward. “And I’m starting to think part of the reason you left the way you did, without saying a word, is because you _wanted_ to hurt him. You wanted to force him to prove he cared.”

Virgil felt tears pricking his eyes because Roman was _right, he’s right, Logan hurt me and I wanted to hurt him back, my master was a manipulator and a liar and I used the same tactic I’m a horrible person and I never deserved to have any of them in my life…_

His chest was closing up, but it wasn’t thorns, it was adrenaline and his heart was pounding and oh, trollshit, this was the start of a _panic attack…_

“Virgil!” Roman snapped his fingers in front of Virgil’s face. “Hey. Look at me, and name five things you can see.”

“What?” Virgil gulped in air, gaze flickering around the room. 

“Do it!”

“Um.” Virgil sucked in a shallow breath. “You. Bed. Walls. Hair spray? Uh, pants.”

“It’s styling foam, but whatever.” Roman’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Okay, now four things you can feel.”

“What’s the point of this?” Virgil demanded, another bolt of panic crashing through him.

“Just trust me.”

Virgil growled, and rubbed shaking hands over his legs. 

“Pants? Um. Bedspread.” He ran fingers across his bed, then up. “Wall.” He passed both hands through his still-wet bangs. “Hair.”

The physical sensations were grounding; his pulse was leveling off. This…this was actually helping.

“Good, now three things you can hear.”

“Your voice. The fan.” Virgil concentrated. “Elliot’s obnoxious rap music across the hall.”

“Two things you can smell.”

Virgil wrinkled his nose. “Literally all I can smell is that rose junk you just doused yourself with.”

Roman huffed and lifted his chin. “Roses, my emo nightmare, are the royalty of flora; however, since you are distraught, I will forgive the slight. One thing you can taste?”

Virgil ran his tongue over his teeth. “Cinnamon.”

Roman wrinkled his nose, making Virgil chuckle.

“You _did_ ask.”

“I want it on record,” Roman stated, “that cinnamon toothpaste is disgusting and I don’t know how actual human beings use it.”

Virgil just breathed, impressed at how quickly Roman had yanked him from the brink. He’d gotten so used to flowers that he’d nearly forgotten what a proper anxiety attack felt like.

“Was that a grounding technique?” he asked after a moment. “All the questions? It’s not one I’ve done.” His mind briefly flashed back to “ _4-7-8 Virgil breathe with me_ ”, and his hand being pressed against a cool, strong chest…

“Kate taught it to me,” Roman said, breaking the train of thought. “Back when I first got out of Arcadia, and then after the whole mess with meeting my ‘brother’, I had a lot trouble with panic attacks. It’s one of my favorites because it forces you to be a little creative. That usually helps me get out of my own head.” 

He started to scrub a hand through his immaculately styled hair, and clearly thought better of it. “I’ve found a lot of the time it pulls me back before a full blown attack can get underway.”

Virgil hummed at that. “You’ve…never struck me as a person who deals with anxiety.”

Roman laughed, louder than he needed to. 

“Yes, well! Smile is about courage and strength, both physical and mental. My occasional lack in that department is not something I like to advertise, you know?”

“You know you don’t have to pretend to be some bastion of heroism all the time, right Princey?” Virgil pointed out with sad smile. “I think it takes more courage to admit you do get anxious sometimes. And this coming from the person who, if you remember, literally chose ‘Anxiety’ as an alias.”

Roman chuckled, ducking his head and looking up through his eyelashes. 

“It’s easier, admitting it to you. Because you understand.”

Virgil tensed, his stomach swooping, and Roman looked away. Virgil honestly didn’t know what he would do if Roman ever worked up the courage to admit his more-than-friendly affection aloud. Panic, probably, if Roman didn’t panic first. 

To cover the moment, Virgil stood and grabbed his hoodie.

“Come on, we’ll be late for fireworks.” he grumbled.

“You said you didn’t care about fireworks!” Roman teased without missing a beat, following as Virgil stomped out of the room. 

“Yeah, but you also promised me the best wings in Philadelphia, and I _will_ hold you to that.” 

They reached the door and Virgil saw the shoes Roman would be wearing. 

“Oh c’mon, Princey, you’re already taller than me,” he complained as Roman slid into the red, shiny, _heeled_ ankle boots. “Why you gotta rub it in?”

“Because a Prince has got to slaaaay,” Roman sang, kicking up a heel and posing. 

Virgil scoffed, but honestly, Roman was one of only a few guys he’d ever met who could rock a pair of heels. 

They joined a group of nine or ten Smile teens, trainees and full hunters both, plus Kate and Rosa, as they all piled into Kate’s van and drove out to the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. The street was closed-off and packed with people for the city’s annual Fourth of July street party. 

They ate at a hole-in-the-wall sports bar; the wings were as good as promised. Virgil ate far more than was good for him. Roman challenged Corbyn, a stocky changeling with shaved blond hair, to an arm wrestling match, which turned into a proper rotating competition complete with spectators from the rest of the restaurant. 

Roman finally lost to Kate, and sputtered indignantly about treachery when a smirking Virgil accepted $5 from Elliot of the obnoxious rap music. 

The group moved back to the crowded street and made their way towards the Museum of Art, where the fireworks were supposed to happen. There was music, and tables and tents, and far too many people for Virgil’s taste…

But then Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and spun him in the middle of the street, belting a familiar tune.

“ _I am not throwing away my shot!_ ”

“No Hamilton!” Virgil shouted, shoving Roman away.

“ _I am not throwing away my shot! Hey yo, I’m just like my country, I’m young, scrappy and hungry, and I am not throwing away my shot!_ ”

It was too late. The group had already joined in.

Elliot started beat-boxing and Roman dropped effortlessly into the first verse, backed up by Corbyn as Burr. One of the human members, Kai, came in with a spot-on rendition of Lafayette, French accent and all. Kate made them all laugh when she joined as Hercules Mulligan, and Virgil’s jaw dropped when quiet Rosa took John Laurens’ lines. 

By the time they reached “ _when are these colonies gonna rise up?_ ”, the Smile teens had gathered a clapping, singing, enthusiastic audience. Virgil bit his lip as Roman danced back to the center of the ring, heels sharp on the pavement, and spread his hands.

“ _I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory. When’s it gonna get me? In my sleep, seven feet ahead of me? If I see it comin’, do I run or do I let it be? Is it like a beat without a melody?_ ”

A chill ran down Virgil’s spine as he realized how apt those words were for a changeling, for a faery hunter.

“ _See, I never thought I’d live past twenty…_ ”

“ _Where I come from some get half as many_ ,” Corbyn joined in, linking elbows with Roman.

“ _Ask anybody why we livin’ fast and we laugh, reach for a flask._ ” The whole group joined back in now, the momentum building. “ _We have to make this moment last, that’s plenty…_ ”

They and the crowd build toward the climax of the song as Virgil stood off to the side, arms around his chest, watching. In that moment, he understood why a chivalrous drama king like Roman had fallen in with this faery assassin cult. Smile lived boldly and on the edge…they _had_ to, in order to do what they did. 

Roman belonged here, in a way Virgil knew he himself did not. 

But for the first time…he kind of wanted to. 

It was another bittersweet realization for the night.

A firework burst over their heads, cutting off their singing and drawing whoops from the crowd. 

Everyone watched the show for a while, necks craned…and then Roman linked their pinky fingers. At first the tiny intrusion made Virgil jerk away and glare. But Roman simply kept his face pointed skyward and tried again, and this time…Virgil let him. 

_It doesn’t have to mean anything…_

“You know, they say a kiss at the climax of a firework show brings good luck,” Roman murmured in his ear. 

Virgil scoffed, eyeing him sideways. “You made that up just now.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.” A sharp grin split Virgil’s face. “It’s too Romano Cheesy to be real.”

“Romano!” Roman sputtered, clearly thrown. “Well. Here’s to hoping that nickname doesn’t last.”

“Please, Romano,” Elliot piped up on Virgil’s other side without missing a beat.

Virgil laughed as Roman sputtered again, unlinking their fingers and folding his arms. But then he leaned down to Virgil’s ear again.

“You have to admit that totally ought to be a tradition.” 

A gold explosion sparkled in Roman’s eyes, reflected from the sky. Virgil sighed, earning a soft nudge to the ribs and an offered cheek from the other. His heart did a weird thing in his chest when he realized Roman was being somewhat serious.

“You’re gonna annoy me until I do it, aren’t you?” he grumbled. 

Roman winked. The moment lingered, neither moving, as the sky painted both of their faces blue. Finally it was Roman’s turn to sigh. 

“I just thought it’d be cute, or whatever,” he murmured, smiling sadly. “Obviously you don’t have to—”

Before Virgil could overthink it, he leaned up and pecked Roman just above his jawline; the briefest flash of warmth on his lips and the heady scent of roses. He smirked when the other’s dark eyes widened in shock, and turned away. 

_I shouldn’t have done that._

The firework show ended in a cacophony of explosive color, but Virgil’s attention was hyper-focused on the weight of Roman’s gaze on the back on his neck.

 _I_ really _shouldn’t have done that._

The words reverberated in his brain, all the way back to the complex. 

Roman was his normal showtune-belting self in the van, but Virgil could practically _see_ the gears turning in that dramatic head whenever their eyes met. 

_It wasn’t like it was a proper kiss._

Virgil shut himself in the bathroom almost as soon as they’d entered their apartment, leaning against the door. He didn’t know what had come over him in that moment, other than feeling like he was always the one spoiling Roman’s playful moods. 

Friends sometimes kissed each other’s cheeks for fun, right? 

_Whatever happened to not leading the guy on?_ Virgil groaned, moving to the mirror to take off his eye makeup. _Now he’s gonna think…_

He didn’t know what Roman thought. He didn’t even know what _he_ thought. His feelings were a million, billion, _gillion_ piece puzzle dumped out in front of him, with no edge piece in sight.

His phone buzzed.

 _For fuck’s sake, Patton_ , Virgil thought, pulling it from his hoodie pocket and glancing at the name.

His heart seized. 

It was Logan.

It was _Logan._

Virgil’s finger trembled over the unlock button but he hesitated, irrationally afraid of what Logan possibly had to say to him in that moment. The half-faery hadn’t texted for _weeks_. Why now, why tonight? 

Probably it was just some generic “happy fourth” message. 

Maybe it was him telling Virgil never to contact him again.

Maybe it was him saying “I miss you”.

Maybe it was…

Virgil hunched over the sink, heat flaring in his lungs and crawling up his throat. _Damn it!_ He was _done_ with this, done with flowers, done with this pathetic pain. But denying it did no good; his heart thudded in panic as it got harder to breathe. If Roman heard this, he’d never hear the end of it…

_Roman._

_Five things I can see._

_Mirror._

_Shower._

_Toilet._

_Hand towel._

He forced himself to meet his own green-and-purple ringed eyes in the mirror. _Myself._

_Four things I can feel…_

Category by category, breath by careful breath, Virgil reeled his chaotic thoughts back to the here and now. The pressure on his chest eased up, though he did have to let a few coughs escape before it went away entirely. 

He numbly removed the rest of his makeup and brushed his teeth.

Virgil exited the bathroom in a huff and flung himself on his bed, deliberately avoiding Roman’s pointed gaze from the other side of the room. He yanked out his phone and deleted all his messages from the day, unread. If he’d almost had an attack from merely receiving a text from Logan, he obviously wasn’t anywhere near ready to reopen communication.

“Virgil.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Virgil retorted, rolling over to face the wall.

“You don’t even know what I was going to—” Roman started.

“Don’t care. Not in the mood.” 

He knew he was being cold and rude, but he really didn’t think he could bear to discuss…anything. The firework kiss, or Logan texting him after all the silence. Whether or not Roman had heard Virgil coughing in the bathroom. 

He heard Roman sigh, and stand up. “You really are a storm cloud sometimes, you know?”

His soft footsteps retreated, and the bathroom door clicked shut.

Tears pricked Virgil’s eyes.

He remembered how Logan used to complain about Florida thunderstorms at night, how they blocked his beloved stars from view.

He thought about fireworks.

His heart ached; lonely, and blue, and a thousand miles away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon:  
>  _stability, soothing warmth_


	33. Tansy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman reveals some truths, and some necessary things are finally said.
> 
> (Y'all, please don't hate me...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park

_everything you say to me_  
_takes me one step closer to the edge_  
_and i’m about to break_

Another day, another run around the city.

Virgil knew they needed to talk about it.

Another day, another sparring match.

They didn’t talk about it.

Another night, another meal eaten off TV trays, another deluge of Netflix and all the pop culture Roman felt Virgil needed to be acquainted with.

They didn’t talk about it, until the proverbial troll in the room finally demanded its toll.

In retrospect, Virgil should have known something big was happening Kate summoned Roman for a “conference call”. Then Roman was gone for nearly an hour, which sent Virgil’s anxiety spiraling so bad he nearly cut his finger off trying to slice an apple. Then when he _did_ reappear, the first thing out of his mouth were those four dreaded words that sent Virgil scrambling to his feet. 

“We need to talk.”

Virgil swallowed. “You know nothing good ever comes after that sentence, right?”

Roman merely folded his arms.

“Okay, so, this is definitely related to the phone call?” Virgil asked, looking away and fiddling with a loose seam on his hoodie. “Or did you just decide to suddenly spring something on me?”

“Are you really going to start this by being difficult?”

“Gee, sorry for having an anxiety disorder that makes overthink and overreact to every damned thing!” Virgil retorted, flinging his hands up. “You disappear for an hour with no explanation, then you come back here all serious and lead with that?”

Roman’s nostrils flared, but instead of lashing out, he exhaled and sank down on the sofa. 

“You know what, that’s fair.”

Virgil folded himself at the other end of the couch, as far away from the other as he could get. 

“I just suddenly have a lot of news to dump in your lap,” Roman added in a low, resigned voice, “most of which I have no idea how you’ll react to. So if you’re planning to be an ass, we may as well just wait until you’re in a better mood.”

Virgil huffed. 

“Anxiety, remember? Waiting and I do not get along.”

Roman sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, keeping his eyes on his lap.

“So…that was Logan on the phone,” he started.

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up, but he supposed he wasn’t surprised. Roman wouldn’t be acting so cagey if it had been anyone else.

“He called Kate?” Virgil asked, frowning. “And not you?”

“Something fairly big has gone down amongst the Earthside Courts,” Roman explained. “A few days ago, a shapeshifter reportedly murdered one of the northeastern Autumn Kings and practically his entire Court.”

“Holy…” Virgil shook his head. “That’s brutal even for Deceit. We _are_ assuming it was him, I take it?”

“Logan was pretty damned sure.” Roman’s mouth twisted. “Smile doesn’t have a lot of Fae contacts—”

“I cannot imagine why,” Virgil deadpanned.

“—but Logan has plenty. And a coup that size is impossible to keep quiet. But here’s the kicker.” He leaned forward. “The bastard himself was seen Hedgeside with a human hostage, near the Eastern State Penitentiary. Middle aged woman, dark skin, long black hair.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Holy Queen. _Rapunzel_.”

“I know, right?”

“She’s really alive,” Virgil murmured, but all his brain could think was _Logan, Logan, Logan…_

“Kate will get everyone together later, most likely, to plan what will happen next. They’ll have to verify Logan’s info, but,” a ghost of a smile twitched across Roman’s mouth, “we both know Specs is rarely wrong. So! That’s shock number one.”

“Yeah…” 

But Virgil’s natural suspicious nature had reared its wary head and sniffed the air.

“What is it?” Roman asked, catching on.

“The timing of this is too good,” Virgil said slowly. “Deceit has done _nothing_ , for weeks. And then all of a sudden, he goes and does the one thing guaranteed to draw the attention of every Court Fae on the entire east coast? What does he gain from killing off an entire Court? And _then_ he conveniently brings Rapunzel out into the open?” He shook his head. “No way. He’s not that stupid—”

His eyes flared wider. “Oh sweet Frank Iero.”

“For the sake of brevity I’m gonna pretend that made sense,” Roman grumbled. “ _What_ , Virgil?”

“It’s a trap.” Virgil turned his alarmed gaze on Roman. “It’s a trap for _Logan_.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Gonna need you to explain that one, buddy.”

“Think about it,” Virgil started.

“ _Like_ I have a choice!”

“Deceit got his ass kicked by you and Logan in DeLand. He probably wants cold, proper revenge.” Virgil huffed, gripping his hair. “He’s been using this time to learn everything he could about you two.”

“That’s why he’s been so quiet; he’s been getting all the pieces in place. I’m thinking he probably knows you’re here; hell, that’s probably why he showed himself in Pennsylvania at all, he knew your murder would call you back. Then once he was ready, he sprang the messiest, noisiest coup he could manage in order to get Logan’s attention. And if _that_ wasn’t enough, he purposefully trotted out Rapunzel to hammer the final nail in the coffin!”

Roman opened and closed his mouth several times. 

“What about the fetch kidnappings?”

Virgil frowned, chewing his lower lip. “Yeah, okay, I’ll admit those still don’t make sense. But everything else fits!”

Roman sighed. “Well, shit.”

“What?”

“Uh…shock number two.” Roman gave him a hesitant, sideways glance. “Logan is kinda flying in tomorrow.”

“What?” Virgil shot to his feet, and then paced the room. “ _Tomorrow_? Gods.”

It wasn’t Roman’s fault…Logan had obviously sprung this on them all…but a little warning would have been nice. 

“It’s his mom, Virgil,” Roman reasoned. “Heck, Brainiac has probably already done the non-gibbering-panic version of the brain dump you just did, and decided to come anyway.”

Virgil ran his hands though his bangs. “Is Patton coming, too?”

“Naturally.” Roman bit his lip. “They’re still together, you know. And…”

The words stung, and they _shouldn’t_ have, and Virgil hated that they got a rise out of his sore heart anyway. A month apart wasn’t nearly enough to fix his messed up feelings; hell, he still couldn’t bring himself to _text_ the guy! What was he going to do when he saw Logan in person again?

“‘And’ what?” Virgil asked, resigned. _There's no point in biting Roman’s head off for things that aren't his fault._

Roman sucked on his teeth. 

And sighed. 

And took a breath as though to speak, but instead exhaled it in a huff.

“Come on, Princey, what’s one more shock?” Virgil asked wryly, sitting back down.

“First of all, I’m going to assume you didn’t read the text you got from Logan on the fourth,” Roman started.

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “How did you—”

“Because he sent me one too, Stormcloud, try and keep up.”

In the bedroom, a stack of old mail slid off the nightstand.

_Geez_. Virgil raised an eyebrow. _What’s got his powers in a twist?_

“So…?”

Roman exhaled, and ran hands through his hair.

“It was…gods. Logan’s planning to propose to Patton in the fall, okay? The text was about an engagement party.”

_Propose._

For a blissful moment, Virgil’s brain didn’t comprehend the word.

“I never told him you’ve been deleting your notifications.” Roman spoke quickly now, the words tumbling over each other. “He thinks you know. I didn’t…I wouldn’t bring it up at all, except knowing him he might spring it on you when he got here and then you’d…Virgil?”

Roman’s voice went hollow, swallowed up by an awful ringing. 

_Propose._

Virgil wasn’t aware that he’d stood until Roman grabbed his elbow to steady him. _Logan is…Logan_ …pain exploded in his lungs and his knees gave out and he coughed, and coughed…

The next thing Virgil knew, his gaunt fingers with their chipped black polish were gripping white porcelain and his face hung over a petal-smeared, bloodstained toilet bowl. 

He took a crackly breath, and another, acid burning his nose. 

Everything hurt.

He lifted his aching head and choked again in shock. Covering the wall was a tangle of veiny greenery, twisting and converging on two suspiciously handprint-shaped spots on either side of the toilet. Purple flowers drooped here and there; morning glories, Virgil’s mind supplied. 

_Love. Mortality. Love in vain._

A vision of Roman’s brown hands overtop of his pale ones flashed through his mind, pressing them to the wall as he retched…

Virgil shuddered, wiping his mouth and flushing the toilet. He didn’t look at the slimy petals within, didn’t want to know what other flowers his magic chose to mock him with this time. 

As he leaned over the sink to wash out his mouth, Roman reentered the bathroom with a bottle of water. Virgil couldn’t read his expression.

“I hope you aren’t drinking Philly tap water,” Roman said, setting the bottle by the sink.

“I’m not _that_ stupid,” Virgil rasped, and gave his mouth another rinse. He grabbed the bottle and slid down against the wall, eyes closed, trying to remember what happened. 

He’d never blacked out during an attack before; that was a new, scary development. 

_I swear I was getting better…the distance was helping…I thought…_

“Sorry about the walls,” he mumbled after a moment.

Roman shrugged, and sat beside him. 

“Eh, I dunno. It’s kind of artsy, adds to the overall—”

“How long have you known?” Virgil interrupted, glaring at Roman through his bangs. “About…”

The other changeling exhaled, staring at his feet.

“A while.”

A small red ember lit in Virgil’s aching chest. 

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“No, I didn’t!” Roman snapped. “I was waiting for you to hear it from Logan, because that would mean you were _talking to him_. And hopefully, talking to him would mean you were ready to hear it.” 

He gestured at Virgil’s body. “I knew the moment you heard it from me, I’d be pulling your head out of the damned toilet. But surprise, surprise; the nerd forced my hand, and here we are.”

Virgil huffed, and drank his water. 

“It wasn’t mine to tell,” Roman added lowly. “It was his, and in all fairness, he _tried_. You’re the one who refuses to have anything to do with him, so don’t blame me for being left out of the loop.”

The empty water bottle crunched as Virgil clenched his hands, a single tansy stem creeping through the plastic. It was tempting to rage after an attack, but Roman was likely also a tinderbox waiting to ignite at the slightest spark right now.

“I just don’t…why would he…they’ve only known each other for six months!” Virgil finally burst out, standing up and pacing the tiny room. “How the fuck are they already getting engaged? It’s too _soon_. He’s smart enough to know you don’t rush into shit like that.”

Roman’s mouth twisted. “I hate to break it to you, but we both know Specs is relentless when it comes to going after what he wants. If it were anyone but Patton…” He shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, he told me he’s planning a long engagement; probably a year or more, before they actually get…”

_Married._

_Engaged, after only a few months._

_When he had two_ years _with me…_

Virgil leaned his forehead against the cool, unblemished wall. Pressure built in his chest again, but instead of flowers, it was just the ordinary press of tears.

“Virgil,” Roman started in a soft, gentle voice. 

Virgil hated that tone, because it meant he was about to say something wise and reasonable, which Virgil would reject, and then they’d both get mad, snip at each other, Roman would back off, they’d both sulk for a few hours and then pretend it never happened. 

Rinse and repeat.

He didn’t have the energy for it.

Instead, he stalked out of the bathroom, intending to fling himself on his bed, but a hand seized his shoulder and spun him around.

“I get that you’re upset, but you must have known this was coming!” Roman’s eyes flashed. “You saw the way they were around each other.”

Virgil snatched his arm away, which Roman allowed, but he followed Virgil into their room.

“Let it go, Princey,” he warned. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“You had to know this was where that relationship was always headed,” Roman said, implacable.

It was true; Logan might seem cold and dispassionate to outsiders, but that was only because he didn’t indulge in pointless displays of emotion. He simply pursued what he wanted with methodical, single-minded passion. 

_If he had ever wanted me…_

“Shut _up_!” Virgil shouted, shutting his stinging eyes and gripping his hair.

“Maybe anyone else would have taken a few years, but they would have gotten there!” Roman stopped, and took an obvious calming breath. “Why won’t you _see_ that?” 

Virgil whirled on Roman and shoved him hard in the chest. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It would make everything so easy for you, if I could just get past these ‘inconvenient’ feelings!”

To his shock, Roman bared his teeth and shoved back, sending Virgil sprawling into one of the TV trays. 

“Don’t you _dare_.” He moved to stand over Virgil, one shaking finger pointed at his chest. “You always do that and I am sick of it. Not this time!” Roman growled. “You don’t get to turn your thorns on me when all I have _ever_ done is try to help you.”

“Oh, trollshit, Princey,” Virgil sneered, scrambling to his feet. “You wouldn’t give a naiad’s wet ass about who I liked if you didn’t have feelings for me!”

Roman’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. 

_Shit._

This was a wrong turn at Albuquerque from the way Virgil had wanted to bring it up...but now that it lay heavy and poisonous between them, he had to _know_.

“Don’t you?” he added softly, dangerously. 

Roman bit his lip, dark eyes pained, and for a moment Virgil was sure he would deny it.

“You know I do,” Roman said finally, his voice cracking, and he looked away. “But that has fuck all to do with you needing to get the fuck over Logan. Keep denying it all you want, but you know I’m right!”

“Right about what?” Virgil yelled. “Because all I hear right now is jealousy, and it’s pathetic.”

“Jealous…your feelings are _literally killing you_!” Roman yelled back, eyes sparkling. “What does that Arcadia-cursed half-faery have that I don’t, that you'd rather _die_ than just…?” 

“Oh, here we go, make it all about you again.” Virgil chuckled mockingly. “When are you gonna get it through your thick skull that, Logan or not, it was never going to be you!”

_Crack!_

Virgil reeled back, clutching his face. 

Roman stared at his own clenched fist like he didn’t know what had possessed it…but his expression hardened.

“How _dare_ you?” he hissed. “I have done my damnedest to be the friend you needed. I let you come here when you needed to run, never pushed, never asked anything of you! I have let you insult me, string me along, sharpen your claws on my hide over and over…and I have never said a word.”

He broke off, both fists clenched now. 

Virgil was still reeling from the fact that Roman had _punched_ him. 

“News flash, Princey.” Virgil let his voice dip low, raspy and dangerous. “Your feelings don’t obligate me to return them.”

Roman’s mouth lifted in a sneer. 

“Well, news flash to you, _Sunshine_. Your Sherlock liked Watson almost from the moment he set eyes on him. It was never going to be you, either.”

With that, he stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard dust trickled from the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tansy:  
>  _i declare war against you_


	34. Bluebell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the endgame...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Lost in Paradise" by Evanescence

_i’ve been believing in something so distant as if i was human_  
_and i’ve been denying this feeling of hopelessness_  
_in me, in me_

Screaming into a pillow wasn’t nearly so satisfying when it also triggered a massive coughing fit. Virgil threw the cushion instead and collapsed onto the couch, holding his head in his hands.

His cheek throbbed; Roman had clocked him good.

 _You deserved it_ , his mind whispered viciously. _Good job, driving off the only guy who actually enjoyed your sorry-ass company._

He couldn’t stay here. He had to get out.

Virgil slipped out the complex’s rarely-used front entrance, guessing that Roman had gone the other direction, to the courtyard. Probably to take out his feelings out on a punching bag instead of Virgil’s face. 

Honestly, mindless exercise wasn’t a bad idea. 

Once he hit the street he shed his hoodie, tying it around his waist, and launched into a light jog. It was late afternoon, and hot, and the street was more crowded than he would have liked, but his footsteps made a calming drumming on the sidewalk. 

Sometimes it was easy to just _feel_ …the impact of rubber soles against concrete, the uptick of his heartbeat, his breaths inside his head…and forget.

But his lungs still burned, brambly and clogged so soon after his attack. Hurt from Roman’s words still coiled in his chest, his face throbbed in time with his pulse. This wasn’t something he could outrun, but Virgil was too stubborn to turn around.

He made it all the way to the Benjamin Franklin Parkway before he was forced to slow to a walk, gasping. Hands over his head, he wandered across a traffic circle-slash-park called, ironically enough, Logan Square. 

The central fountain lay wide and shallow, with several children splashing in it. Virgil collapsed on one of the few shaded benches and exhaled, running a hand through now-sweaty bangs. He examined his face by touch; his right eye was starting to feel swollen. 

_Why do I bring out the worst in people?_

Virgil had been a dick to both Logan and Patton for weeks for no good reason. And now he’d been an even worse dick to Roman, who’d done nothing to deserve it. He didn’t blame Roman for finally snapping. 

He deliberately dug fingers into the cheek Roman had punched, relishing the pain. 

_I thought distance would fix this. It was supposed to fix this. I thought…I thought I could handle it._

He recalled, with painful clarity, the way Patton’s ginger curls looked against Logan’s dark skin; the way they stood together, two halves of a whole. The memory was so worn over with misery that it didn’t even spark tears anymore. 

Virgil had never needed Roman to tell him he’d never stood a chance. 

He’d known it for a long time now.

Unrequited feelings just seemed so much more _pathetic_ when rings got involved.

Virgil slipped off the bench, settling in front of it, and dug fingers into the dirt. Oddly, he found himself missing Wrassey. Pixies were flighty and often rude and generally annoying, but they possessed that uniquely fae ability to see through trollshit and get to the heart of whatever problem you faced. He realized he hadn’t told any of the DeLand solitaries that he was leaving, and felt another stab of regret. 

Hell, right now Virgil would take the Arden Dryad’s painful wisdom, or even Remy’s sassy talkback. 

But in this wide open, human-infested park, there were no convenient solitaries around to tell him how to stop pining for someone who’d never wanted him. Or how to stop hurting the one person who did.

_I should be over this. I_ want _to be over this._

His chest ached, so he sent his power creeping through the grass, feeling the turn of the earth through his fingertips. Flowers bloomed across the park; clusters of fragile, blue, bell-shaped blossoms; tiny, so as not to be noticed.

_If Deceit wasn’t still a threat, I could leave._

_If Deceit wasn’t a threat…_

He played with his magic until the sun began to set; twisting clusters of grass into bloom, clumps of dirt into color. He’d missed the simple pleasure of creation, even if it was with his cursed abilities instead of a paintbrush. 

Eventually he had to go back. 

It was nearly dark by the time he reached their street, and as he approached the complex, his heart sank when he spotted Kate’s imposing figure waiting on the stairs. 

He slowed, contemplating going around back…but she’d already spotted him.

“Virgil Storm,” she said, standing up, and Virgil bit back his instinctive wince at hearing his full name spoken aloud. Her eyebrows rose as he crept closer, her fierce green eyes raking over his face. 

“Come with me,” she commanded, in a voice he couldn’t disobey.

He wondered what Roman had told her; nothing good, from the annoyed pinch of her eyebrows. She led him through the maze of hallways and out to the courtyard where Roman practiced alone, whirling about, bokken spinning in his hands. 

He straightened up when he saw Kate, and stopped dead when he spotted Virgil lingering behind.

“Virgil!” Kate pointed imperiously at the ground beside her.

He crept close enough to hear, scowling.

“Given that _you_ just spent the last two hours abusing a punching bag until it burst,” she began dryly, pointing at Roman, “and _you_ are sporting one hell of a black eye,” she pointed at Virgil, “I’m going to assume you two have had a fight.”

Nobody spoke. 

Kate glared between them. 

Virgil fought a spasm of fear: would she kick him out over this? Where would he go? 

“Fortuitously, I have a valid reason to temporarily separate you,” Kate said at last. “Tomorrow I’m taking my hunters to the Eastern State Penitentiary, and Roman is coming along. As soon as your half-faery friend arrives, we’ll set the trap to take down the renegade known as Deceit.”

Roman pumped a fist and muttered “finally”, but the excitement slid from his face as he caught Virgil’s sour expression. 

“Why just Roman?” he demanded. “We both have a stake in this. Why not take both of us?”

“You aren’t ready.” Roman folded his arms. “Not even close. You’d only be putting yourself in danger.”

Kate side-eyed Roman for his clipped tone, but nodded. 

“It’s not a personal judgement, Virgil. I’m excluding all current trainees from this mission, not just you.”

“ _Roman_ is still a trainee,” Virgil pointed out.

“Do you have to be like this right now?” Roman snapped, lip curled.

“Roman’s skills are equal to that of any hunter in this murder—” Kate started.

“And Deceit is _my_ kill,” Roman added fiercely, gripping the bokken he still held.

Kate frowned. “Virgil…I know what Deceit is to you, and there’s no shame in prioritizing self-preservation. I had assumed you would prefer to stay behind. Do you…do you _want_ to go?”

Virgil chewed his lip, the solemnity in Kate’s voice giving him pause. 

_I’ll never be free until he’s dead._

“Yeah,” he said firmly, lifting his chin. “I do.”

Roman looked at him like he’d sprouted scales and a forked tongue.

“But you’re terrified of him!” he sputtered.

“That’s why I need this!” Virgil snapped back. “I’m sick of living in fear. He forced me out of a life I loved and he’s been dictating my every move since. He’s hurt people I…care about.” 

He huffed, clenching his fists. “I know I can’t kill him, or even help kill him. I’m weak, and practically useless…” he took a deep breath, “but unless I see him die with my own eyes, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder.”

Roman continued to scowl, but Kate tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips. Virgil waited, holding his breath.

“All right,” she said at last. “Virgil comes along.”

Roman burst out laughing, but quickly sobered up when both Kate and Virgil shot him murderous looks. Virgil, in particular, considered giving him a matching black eye.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Roman said.

Kate nodded.

Virgil folded his arms.

“But—” Roman started.

“And you two are going to stick together,” Kate added, gesturing between them.

“What?” they both cried, and shot each other glares.

“Roman.” Kate reached over and gripped the side of Roman’s jaw. “Be honest. Is there anyone else you would trust to keep him safe?”

Roman’s face contorted and he jerked away. Virgil felt a stab between his own ribs at the awful expression he wore; something between rage, and sorrow, and a horrible sort of resignation.

All because Virgil insisted on coming on this mission, when all logic and common sense dictated he should stay behind.

Kate sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Look, your personal drama is none of my business. But if you’re both coming, I need you to sort out your shit enough to stay together, and stay focused. Can you do that?”

The two finally looked at each other, and looked away again, and nodded. Satisfied with that, Kate left them alone in the courtyard. 

Virgil rubbed the shaved back of his head, feeling the weight of Roman’s glare. 

They’d both said some shitty things to each other; the air _needed_ clearing…but he feared any attempt to bring it up right now would only boil over into another fight. Maybe they could just…push this whole mess aside for a few days, long enough to eliminate Deceit from the equation.

Maybe, after it was all over, they could salvage what remained of their friendship.

If anything.

“I’m going inside,” Virgil said as neutrally as he could manage.

A muscle in Roman’s jaw ticked.

“There’s pizza in the common room,” he said at last in a colorless voice, looking away.

Virgil hummed, and started to walk away. 

Guilt stopped him.

“You…” He hung his head, staring at his feet. “You _have_ been a good friend.”

Virgil dared to look back and saw those last words hit Roman like a knife stab. _‘Friend’. Oh no, no…Roman, I didn’t mean it like that…_ but he couldn’t take it back. 

The other changeling’s mouth compressed.

“Sure,” he said flatly. “Good night, Virgil.”

No nickname. Virgil took that for the dismissal it was and scurried inside, cursing himself and his stupid mouth. 

Even when he’d honestly been trying to apologize, he just couldn’t seem to stop hurting people. 

‘Operation Rescue Rapunzel’ was off to a _great_ start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluebell:  
>  _humility, believed to call the faeries when rung_


	35. Daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Patton are back, and Smile unveils their plan to take down Deceit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" by Fall Out Boy

_am i more than you bargained for yet_  
_i’ve been dying to tell you anything you want to hear_

The Eastern State Penitentiary was a gray, imposing, sprawling ruin of high brick walls and rusted barbed wire, housing a dizzying maze of peeling painted cellblocks, pitted bars and broken glass, and a lingering miasma of despair that even the bluest sky outside couldn’t dissipate. The place had once been known for its strict discipline and had held some of America’s most notorious lawbreakers…or so claimed the brochure.

Twisted and interlaced within its soaring, dismal confines, the Penitentiary was a tangle of Hedge gaps, twining into the heart of Bale territory within Arcadia, surrounded by acres of Unseelie lands. None of Kate’s spies had actually been Hedgeside within the prison, but local lore claimed that the Penitentiary had a corresponding ruin on its Arcadian side. 

The perfect hideout for a fetch-dealer.

And yet, somehow the cheap motel that Kate secured for her Smile murder managed to be even creepier. 

“She said it was all she could find for so many of us on short notice,” Virgil reminded Roman as they eyed the peeling wallpaper and suspiciously stained carpet. “It’s only for one night.”

“Speak for yourself.” Roman avoided the beds and set his duffle bag on the TV shelf. “I’d rather sleep outside.”

Virgil wondered if Roman’s objections were due to the state of the room…which was admittedly awful…or the company he was forced to keep. Their interactions on the drive over had hovered between a frosty civility and passive-aggressive comments, though they’d managed to avoid any more actual fighting. 

It was barely noon and Virgil had already faced two uncomfortable truths. 

One, he’d never dealt with a truly angry Roman before, not like this. Two, he _did not_ like it.

“The tactical meeting is in an hour, right?” Virgil said, sitting gingerly on one of the beds. “By the outer wall?”

“You need me to write it down for you?” Roman cast him a nasty side eye.

Virgil felt his nostrils flare. “Just trying to make conversation.”

“Yeah, well.” Roman wrenched open his bag with a loud zip. “Don’t.”

Virgil already had his earbuds in. He huddled against the headboard and put on some mind-numbing, angsty Fall Out Boy. Roman paced restlessly around the other bed, probably turning the sheets inside out or whatever. Virgil determinedly ignored him until it was time to go.

Kate and Rosa had coordinated the strike with a sizable murder in nearby Trenton, and supposedly a few from Harrisburg Smile were expected to turn up as well. Virgil and Roman made the walk from their team’s motel on Fairmount to the Penitentiary itself, circling it for blocks until they reached a bit of parkland on the north side. Teens and young adults already dotted the space, leaning against trees and obviously trying to look casual. 

Virgil’s heart skipped when a familiar freckled changeling met them at the entrance. 

Patton strode forward as they approached, but stopped, hands sliding nervously over each other. His smile was worn and unsure, his bright blue eyes cautious behind his round glasses.

It was obviously taking everything he had not to grab them both in a hug, and Virgil despised himself for causing the world’s greatest hugger to hesitate.

“Hey,” Patton practically whispered, his gaze settling hungrily on Virgil. He frowned. “What happened to your face?”

“Um,” Virgil unconsciously covered his bruised cheek, carefully looking anywhere but at Roman. “Long story.”

“Aw, Padre, c’mere,” Roman cut in loudly, scooping Patton into the hug he obviously craved and spinning him around. 

Virgil huffed, folding his arms. He caught Roman’s smug expression; he knew perfectly well Roman had done that to remind him that _Roman_ could still hug Patton, because _Roman_ hadn’t been a shitty friend. 

(And possibly to draw Patton’s attention away from the shiner he’d caused.)

Patton giggled and grinned for real as Roman set him down. 

“Looking as Jim Handsome as always,” Patton chirped, ruffling Roman’s shaggy hair. 

“And Virge…” he trailed off, his gaze running over his partially shaved head, his slightly filled-out chest, his deliberately dark eyeshadow. “You, ah, look good, too. Other than,” he gestured vaguely at Virgil’s face, “you know.”

Virgil rubbed his neck, still unable to meet his friend’s earnest gaze for more than a moment. “Thanks, I guess.”

Patton’s mouth turned down for a split second before the grin was back. 

Virgil bit back an urge to hit something. This was all his fault: clearly he’d wounded Patton enough with his silence that his _former_ best friend felt like he needed to tiptoe around him. Virgil knew he needed to assure Patton that he’d done nothing wrong, but he had no idea where to start.

He hated this whole mess, all the worse because it was entirely of his own making. 

Patton led them to a tree near the park’s center, where a large paper pad had been hastily set up. Rosa sat alone in a beach chair nearby, serene in her sari as always, typing away on a tablet. Virgil looked anxiously around at the clusters knots of Smile hunters.

If Patton was here, Logan had to be as well… 

“He’s with Rosa’s wife; Kate, I think is her name? Putting the last touches on whatever they have planned,” Patton said quietly at his shoulder. “They’ll be here soon.”

Roman excused himself to talk to Corbyn, but not before shooting Virgil a pointed glare. _Apologize_ , that look said, as he left Virgil and Patton alone.

Patton sat down, criss cross applesauce, and patted the space next to him. 

Virgil sighed.

“Look…Patton, I…” he murmured as he sat, and startled when Patton placed a finger over his mouth.

“We will have this conversation.” Those blue eyes stared intently into Virgil’s scared brown ones. “I…I think I probably have things that need saying as well. But right now we have maybe five minutes before this meeting.” He waved at the paper pad. “Don’t think that means you’re getting out of it, though, mister. You owe both of us an explanation.”

_Both of us._

Virgil’s heart squeezed painfully and he looked away. 

“Just tell me one thing.”

Patton’s voice was so pained Virgil couldn’t help but look at him. The other’s eyes had gone shimmery.

“Did you miss me at all?” Patton’s voice was so soft Virgil wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t already been leaning in. His heart splintered a little.

“Gods, Patton,” he said, letting his forehead rest against the other’s shoulder. Patton’s kind, gentle energy was a balm Virgil hadn’t realized he craved until just then. “Of course I did.”

“Are you and Roman fighting?” Patton asked quietly. 

Virgil jerked back up, fixing his bangs as more guilt rolled in his stomach.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Empath, remember?” Patton shrugged. “You shouldn’t, you know. He cares for you more than you… _oh_.”

Virgil had winced at the memory of Roman’s fist, and from the stricken look on Patton’s face, the other had picked up the emotional spike.

“Oh, Virge. Did…did _Roman_ do that?” Patton noted gently, fingers reaching for Virgil’s face.

“ _Stop_ ,” Virgil hissed, glaring. 

Patton dropped his hands and fell silent. 

After a moment, he picked a few daisies and started weaving a chain. When he ran out of flowers within easy reach, Virgil lay hands on the grass and grew more. It was as close to an apology as he could manage at the moment, and Patton seemed to take it as such.

Roman, Virgil noticed sourly, was now talking merrily with Corbyn’s group and showed no inclination to rejoin them. 

“All right, Smile, look alive,” Kate’s voice cut through the park, muting what little conversation there was. “Let’s move it in so I don’t have to shout. And maybe lose the hoods and hats; we don’t want anyone calling the cops on us.”

Chuckles rippled through the crowd as they shuffled closer, little clusters separating and reforming into a semicircle around her and Rosa.

“Hello, Trenton and Harrisburg, and thank you for coming to help us out,” she began, giving a casual, two-fingered salute. Over half of the group waved back. “Raze, and Corey, you wanna come up here?”

A human and a changeling, both in their twenties, came forward, bumping fists with Kate as they did. Virgil guessed these to be the leaders of the other two Smile murders. 

“You’ve all probably met me and my wife Rosa by now,” Kate said, smiling, and Rosa gave a little wave from where she sat. 

Virgil wondered why Kate was bothering with these introductions; hadn’t these murders worked together before? Didn’t they all know each other?

“But this time around I need to introduce the brains behind this raid.”

_Oh._

The semicircle parted for Logan, gasps following in his wake, and Virgil’s heart turned over slow like molasses in his chest. 

Adding to the shock of seeing him again, actually _seeing_ him…Logan had chosen to come un-glamoured, skin bare and dark and _obviously_ too flawless to be entirely human. His ear tips rose, sinfully exposed, above immaculately braided cornrows; his fae cheekbones and jawline cut like a newly-sharpened knife on flesh. 

He looked good.

He looked _really_ good, and Virgil hated that he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Rosa rose to embrace the half-faery, murmured something in his ear; they obviously already knew each other. As a Founder, she probably knew exactly who he was.

“This is Logan,” Kate said firmly, holding out her arm as Logan turned to face everyone. “And before you point out the obvious, we are well aware of his…heritage. However, he has aided Smile in the past, and my wife vouches for him.” Her eyebrows drew together. “That is enough for me, and it should be enough for you.”

Virgil noticed that Kate left out Logan’s last name, and guessed that was deliberate. Rapunzel’s secret son probably wouldn’t appreciate being outed to several dozen Smile.

Marker in hand, Logan laid out the plan on the paper pad, with blueprints and lists and well-reasoned logic. 

He divided the operation into thirds, hypothesizing that Deceit would keep Rapunzel on the Arcadian side of the prison. A small team, led by Kate and Rosa, would go Hedgeside to find her. Once she was safe and out of Arcadia, they would join the assault team. This larger team, comprised mainly of Trenton hunters (and Roman), and led by himself, Raze, and Corey, would make a noisy sweep through the Penitentiary: ideally to flush Deceit out and force a confrontation, but at the very least to keep the faery’s attention away from the rescue mission. The third, smallest team, which included Virgil and Patton, was essentially backup, only to be called upon if things went sideways for either group. 

The attack was to commence at high noon the next day, when Unseelie influence would be at its lowest ebb. 

Virgil’s mouth compressed, realizing he’d essentially been benched. Not what he’d had in mind when he joined this mission, but he supposed it made sense. Him trying to keep up with the assault team would be suicide, and the alternative was voluntarily going into _Arcadia_. He shuddered at the thought.

Besides, despite Kate’s admonition for Roman to keep Virgil safe, she had likely separated them on purpose.

He did wonder whose idea it was to keep Patton completely out of the action, though. Despite his placid nature, Patton’s empathic and calming abilities would make him a valuable asset. Virgil glanced at him, but Patton merely continued weaving daisy chains as Logan talked, only looking up every now and then. 

Logan ended the briefing by reminding them all to turn their shirts inside out, to procure some St. John’s Wort and salt, to pick some four leaf clovers and daisies. 

Virgil frowned, eyeing Patton’s pile of daisy chains with new understanding. Of course, Patton had been a Grimm; he would be familiar with all the various folkloric ways to repel faeries. Virgil was probably the only one here who didn’t know the lore by heart. 

Yet another good reason to keep him as backup.

“You ought to be in the rescue group, at the very least,” he murmured to Patton. “You’ve done this kind of thing before.”

Patton’s mouth compressed. 

“Logan didn’t want to have to worry about his mother _and_ me tomorrow, and I don’t blame him. Besides,” he smiled sharply, “you know I hate violence, Virge.”

He went to hand out his chains as the groups dispersed, leaving Virgil blinking after him. _Was that a dig at me running off to join Roman and Smile? Patton isn’t usually that…subtle._

His heart clenched as he realized that was probably Logan’s influence. 

Would he even get to see Logan before the mission?

As much as he dreaded it, he knew he should say _something_ to the half-faery before tomorrow.

Virgil wandered over to where Logan and Kate still spoke in low voices, circling and staying out of sight so as not to interrupt. To his shock, he realized they were in the midst of an argument.

“—are the only one of us who stands a chance at countering a Court Fae’s magic.” Kate gestured at the dispersing Smile groups. “We’re not Grimms, Logan; half the changelings in these murders have never used their powers on purpose. All we know is iron and steel. That’s why we _need_ you running point.”

“May I remind you that I am winter-aligned, and it is mid-July,” Logan said calmly, but his voice held enough iron and steel to shame any Smile hunter.

“This isn’t Florida!”

“Mid. July. Also, half blood.” Logan gestured at himself. “I am no more powerful than a changeling in summer, Kate. And even were I at peak capacity, my powers could never match Deceit’s in a one-on-one clash.”

“And yet you think _Roman_ will do better? He is the only trainee here.” Kate folded her arms, looking thunderous. She was awfully protective of her favorite protégé.

“Roman _has_ done better.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “He once held Deceit off with nothing but a sword and his luck. You told me he wants this. The assault team is statistically most likely to encounter Deceit, and they are better equipped to protect Roman when they do.” 

He laid graceful fingers on Kate’s arm. 

“Do not underestimate the possibilities of Roman’s power, Kate. It is honestly like nothing I’ve ever encountered in a changeling.”

Kate’s face grew pinched. 

“He would have two experienced Smile captains and the bulk of your combined forces backing him up,” Logan went on. “Meanwhile, you need someone on that second team who knows their way around Arcadia.”

“May I remind you that my wife is leading that team, and she was a Grimm before you were a twinkle in your father’s eye!” Kate exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Logan, I know you want to look for Rapunzel yourself—”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “That did not factor into my reasoning at all.”

_Lie._

Virgil knew that face well enough to know.

“And I have the utmost respect for you,” Kate went on. “But you wanted to do this with Smile, and I have to think about what’s best for my hunters, and our murders. My decision stands.”

Logan’s nostrils flared, but other than that, his face remained impassive.

“Very well,” he said at last.

Kate gave him a nod and walked away. Logan ran a hand over his face in an uncharacteristic show of annoyance, exhaling sharply. 

Then his face grew pained.

“Virgil, that clump of shrubbery does not hide you nearly as well as you seem to think it does.”

Virgil swallowed hard as a pair of stormy gray eyes unerringly found his. He sheepishly stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Eavesdropping does not become you,” Logan scolded, folding his arms.

“I, uh…” Virgil rasped, and cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Logan was angry; it rolled off his tense shoulders like a winter chill. The cold set to those handsome features unravelled what little courage Virgil possessed. He considered bolting…but if he ever wanted the half-faery’s forgiveness, he couldn’t run away from this forever.

Logan came within arm’s reach, his eyes narrowing. “What happened to your face?”

“Roman punched me.” 

The truth tumbled out before he could rethink it. Logan raised an eyebrow, and Virgil shrugged.

“I deserved it.”

“Why did you leave?” Logan asked.

“Faery _balls_ , you can’t just…” Virgil exhaled, pulling his hoodie tighter around his body. “You’re not even gonna ease into it?”

“You hate small talk as much as I do,” Logan countered. “Why did you leave?

Virgil had forgotten how damned _intimidating_ Logan’s directness was. That gaze demanded truth, but what could Virgil say? _I love you and you’re with Patton and I just couldn’t take it anymore?_ His shoulders hunched.

_Pathetic._

“It’s complicated,” he settled on, looking away.

Logan touched his shoulder, nearly startling Virgil out of his hoodie. The half-faery’s expression had softened.

“Virgil, just…be honest with me.” Logan retrieved his hand and fiddled with the tip of his tie. “Did I drive you away? I am aware that my personality can often be what ordinary people describe as abrasive—”

“What?” Virgil had been bracing himself for a different accusation. “No, it…no. It wasn’t you.”

_Not exactly._

“I know I did somewhat neglect our friendship when I started dating Patton.” Logan looked away. “It was not my intention, but…”

Virgil ran a hand through his bangs, tugging a little to ground his thoughts. “No, it...you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? Neither did Patton.”

“Then why would you disappear? Why cut us off? It has been _five weeks_ , I just…” Logan took a deliberate breath, his gray eyes glittering. “Help me understand. Please.”

_Please._

Virgil bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Logan never begged. 

_Maybe I should just tell him. I was gonna, that night, before everything went to shit…_ but why? What good would a confession do now, when they had a murderous faery to hunt down tomorrow and nobody could afford distractions? 

What was the point, when Logan meant to propose to Patton in the fall? 

It would be too little, too late.

He couldn’t push the words out.

“It’s complicated,” he whispered again, fighting tears. 

_Coward, coward._

Logan sighed and then, rather hesitantly, held out his arms. Virgil eyed them in confusion. Did…did Logan want a _hug_?

“Patton is of the opinion that these help, when words fail,” Logan said, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.

Virgil huffed despite himself. He knew he shouldn’t…but he was too weak to resist.

He gingerly set hands on Logan’s shoulders, inhaling sharply when Logan pulled him close. For a moment, he was back in Logan’s apartment all those months ago, drowning... 

A thornier realization hit, making his fingers curl helplessly against Logan’s back.

The Logan he’d met two years ago would never have initiated physical touch as a solution to anything. This was all Patton’s influence.

Virgil was just the lucky beneficiary.

 _Thief_ , his mind hissed. Bramble whispered in his lungs. _Whore. Fetch-maker._

He wasn’t aware that he’d closed his eyes until he opened them again, staring hard across the park in an attempt to keep tears at bay.

In doing so, he met Roman’s stricken gaze.

Virgil froze. He’d thought Corbyn’s group had left, but no, they’d paused at the park entrance and there was Roman in their midst, dark eyes glittering and mouth softly agape like he’d been slapped. 

A long, awful moment passed before Roman turned back to his friends, laughing loudly at nothing.

Virgil recoiled and broke out of the hug, despite immediately missing its warmth. His throat ached with all the words he couldn’t say; it was barely 2PM and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. 

Logan frowned, but merely adjusted his glasses.

“You, ah, look better rested than when I last saw you,” he said, gray eyes flickering over Virgil. “The hair suits you and you look much healthier. Whatever reasons you had for leaving,” and he sighed, softly, “it would seem that Smile has done you good.”

Virgil’s treacherous heart drank in the praise even as Roman’s betrayed eyes tugged at his memory. He hugged himself and looked away. 

“If you say so.”

“Virgil, would you like to come back to the room with Patton and I for a while?” Logan asked. He glanced surreptitiously at his phone. “It would be pleasant to ‘hang out’, as the cool kids say.”

Virgil choked back a laugh, fondness for the half-faery welling up in his chest. “Did you move your vocabulary cards to your phone?”

“I have found that format to be far more efficient, yes.” 

Virgil folded his arms. “Did Patton put you up to this?” 

“It was a mutual desire. But I know he will be particularly pleased to spend time with you, if that sweetens the deal.” 

Logan mirrored Virgil’s cross-armed stance, and Virgil most definitely did _not_ notice the pleasant way his shirtsleeves hugged his biceps. 

He shouldn’t. 

Roman would tell him not to be stupid, that this was asking to be tortured…but was holing up in their disgusting motel room and sulking for the rest of the day really a better option? 

Besides, Roman had already left to lick his own wounds; he wasn’t here to get a say in this. 

And…hadn’t Virgil been shitty enough to those two? Didn’t he owe them?

He was a coward, and apparently a glutton for punishment.

“All right, Nerd,” he said, sighing. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daisy:  
>  _innocence_


	36. Petunia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Roman are still at odds, and then something happens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Learn My Lesson" by Daughtry
> 
> Other song(s):  
> "Sally's Song" covered by Amy Lee

_and i’ve felt this emptiness before_  
_but all the times that i’ve been broken_  
_i still run right back for more_

The Uber ride was quiet. 

Logan's and Patton's room was further from the Penitentiary, but far nicer; no weird stains on the wall, no carpets that looked like they’d survived a zombie apocalypse. Patton met Virgil at the door with one of his “Patton-ted” full body hugs, all hesitation from earlier gone.

Neither mentioned his disappearance more than they already had, despite Patton’s earlier warning. Virgil supposed they were afraid he’d bolt if they tried to force him to talk. 

(They would be right.) 

Patton had brought along, of all things, an UNO deck, which he insisted on pulling out when Virgil mentioned he’d never played. Logan turned out to be a ruthless player, taking cool pleasure in making his opponents draw cards, but weirdly it was Patton who won nearly every round. Virgil insisted he had to be cheating, while Logan pointed out all the reasons why it was impossible to cheat in a game of chance. 

Virgil ended up staying for pizza and a few episodes of some cartoon series Patton had recently gotten into. (It revolved around a guileless kid and a bunch of aliens who had jewels in their stomachs? He didn’t really get it, but it was cute.) 

It felt like falling back into a memory.

If he didn’t let his mind latch onto the little touches, or the single bed, it was like all the good days they’d had in DeLand. Logan and Patton had never been an overly affectionate couple in public, and they were both clearly making an effort to make Virgil feel comfortable in their space: Patton, with laughter and touches; and Logan, with words and a warmth to his gray eyes that only a friend would notice.

The three of them had had a good dynamic, Virgil realized with a pang, before everything got so complicated. Maybe he’d been a fool to throw it away. 

Finally it got late, and Virgil felt he ought to get back to his room. He was surprised Roman hadn’t texted him…but then again, they weren’t exactly speaking.

Logan walked him out, alone.

“You left this,” he said as they waited for Virgil’s Uber, pulling something from his pocket. 

Virgil’s heart skipped when he recognized his bear pendant, shimmery and freezing cold from all the power Logan had poured into it. The half-faery pushed it into his hands.

“If my protection will help even a little against Deceit…” His gray eyes caught Virgil’s. “I would feel better, knowing that you have it.”

Swallowing, Virgil slipped the charm over his head, the little bear settling its cold, familiar weight against his heart. 

“‘A single grain of rice may tip the scale’,” he murmured, quoting Roman’s favorite Disney movie. 

Logan smiled, but whether it was because he understood the reference or because he didn’t, Virgil wasn’t sure.

The Uber pulled up.

“Be careful tomorrow,” the half-faery added.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Virgil quipped, only half joking. “You’re the one Kate put on the front line.”

Logan’s mouth compressed. 

_Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him of that._

“Mmm. She did.” Logan adjusted his glasses, his gray eyes guarded. “Go. You will need your rest. Please give Roman my regards.”

Again, weird, since he’d likely see Roman in the morning. But now Virgil was thinking about the look Roman had shot him in the park earlier, and dreading having to see him again after spending the whole afternoon with Logan. 

As the Uber pulled away, he looked through the back window to see the half-faery still standing in the parking lot, a bespectacled silhouette in the growing darkness.

Roman, mercifully, was in the shower when Virgil slipped into their room. He quickly stripped down to boxers and a tank top and crawled into bed (after examining the sheets for stains, as best he could in the dim light). The bed’s pillows were lumpy, useless, musty-smelling slabs, so he balled up his hoodie instead. 

Burying his face in it, he tried to relax enough to sleep.

Or not. 

Because hugging Logan for even a short time had infused the fabric with just enough mahogany and teakwood scent to jolt his senses and make his heart ache. He breathed deep, like inhaling a drug he couldn’t kick, and let the ache bring tears to his eyes.

The shower cut off and he heard Roman moving around in the bathroom.

“You finally get tired of being the third wheel?” 

Virgil rolled his head to glare at Roman, now striding into the main room wearing boxers and a towel. 

“Because I dunno,” Roman busied himself with his bag. “I thought maybe you’d just stay the night over there.” Virgil heard the distinct snap of a zipper breaking, and Roman’s soft swear. “Not sure where you’d sleep, though,” he added, glancing back with a sneer.

“Don’t be an ass,” Virgil drawled, ignoring the way the words stung. “It’s fucking with your powers.”

“It’s whatever.” Roman waved a careless hand. “I mean, I knew the moment that bastard showed up you’d be back to trailing him like a forlorn puppy, boyfriend in tow or not, so—”

“For fuck’s sake!” Virgil sat up and angrily chucked a lumpy pillow at Roman’s face. “They invited me over; what was I supposed to do? You’ve been berating me for a _month_ to talk to them, but then when I actually _do_ , you get all pissy with me?”

Roman tossed the pillow back, jaw set and eyes flashing. 

“Seelie Queens, is the Incredible Sulk actually talking to me again?” He yanked on a pair of pajama bottoms, cursing again as their string broke off in his hands. 

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“You’re being a child,” he grumbled, re-wadding his hoodie and pressing his face into it. 

He took another mahogany and teakwood breath, relishing the heartache, and felt eyes on his neck. Roman was watching him, belligerent pity in the lift of his lips. 

“Well, _you’re_ being pathetic.” 

Roman flicked off the lights, threw himself into the other bed, and rolled to face the far wall. 

Shame flashed through Virgil, so acute he was momentarily nauseous with it.

“Takes one to know one,” he shot back, knowing it would wound, _wanting_ it to. Roman didn’t answer, but Virgil saw the telltale twitch of shoulders in the dimness that meant the blow had landed. 

Now Virgil was far too anxious to sleep…thanks _Roman_ …so he fished in his hoodie pocket for his phone and earbuds. Maybe Amy Lee’s haunting, red poetry could coax him into oblivion. 

_“i sense there’s something in the wind_  
_that feels like tragedy’s at hand_  
_and though i’d like to stand by him_  
_can’t shake this feeling that I have_

_the worst is just around the bend…”_

He must have drifted off, because he awoke soaked in sweat, and with a cold, remembered laugh echoing in his ears. It was still dark and his ears ached from sleeping with headphones in. 

Virgil pulled them out with a sigh, not even bothering to put them away. The lump that was Roman in the other bed was still, silent, and hopefully asleep.

Or...not.

A small, broken sound came from the other side, magnified by the silence in the room: the shuddery, wet inhalation of a person who desperately doesn’t want their crying to be overheard. Virgil recognized it because he knew precisely what it sounded like coming from his own throat. 

_You did this to him._

He lay perfectly still, guiltily cataloging every soft gasp, every measured exhale, feeling sicker with each one. 

_You took that proud, spirited heart and reduced it to this._

_Are you satisfied, fetch-maker?_

Virgil sat up, hyperaware that Roman’s soft noises cut off as he did. He pulled on his hoodie and pants, grabbed a key card and pocketed it. He half expected Roman to speak up, demand to know what he was doing, but the other remained silent. 

Probably he wanted Virgil to think he was asleep.

Well. 

The least Virgil could do was let Princey have his cry in private so he could get to sleep. One of them, at least, should be rested for tomorrow. 

The night air was cool. Light fog had settled over the city, blanketing the parking lot and surrounding the motel sign with a sickly yellow aura. The “no” in the “vacancy” neon flickered on and off, as though the place itself couldn’t decide if its shitty rooms were full or not. 

_Schrödinger's Vacancy_ , Virgil thought, amused, until he realized that was a joke probably only Logan would appreciate.

He shoved fists in his pockets and crossed the quiet lot to the pool, climbing the rusty fence to get in. He didn’t think anyone would care enough to stop him. The concrete was pocked with age, the pool itself drained and full of leaves and debris. 

He sat down on the edge, letting his bare feet dangle in the emptiness. 

_The worst part_ , Virgil realized, _is that Roman is too damned insecure to let me go, no matter how badly I hurt him. If I really care_ …and Virgil _did_ care, no matter what Roman thought… _I have to stop letting him do this to himself._

But it wasn’t like he could just go back to DeLand with Logan and Patton, either, after all this was over. 

Despite how unexpectedly well the afternoon had gone, Virgil wasn’t _about_ to move back in with a couple who’d be married within a couple years. Even if he _didn’t_ have feelings for one of them, he’d forever be the awkward roommate, an intruder in the life they deserved to be building together.

So where did that leave him?

Virgil tipped his head back, taking deep breaths against the growing bramble in his lungs. 

_I could just go, right now_ , he thought with a weird lurch in his heart. _Just duck out. Fuck the mission, fuck Deceit, fuck feelings. I could get on a bus tonight and be long gone by morning._

He stood up; the idea was horribly tempting. 

_Nobody would have to worry about me getting hurt tomorrow. Logan and Patton could have their happy ending. Roman would finally be free._

His hand slipped under his shirt to clutch at Logan’s pendant. 

_It would be so easy._

His phone buzzed, the longer sound of an incoming call. He almost ignored it, staring hard at the street leading out of the motel parking lot…but at the last second he tore it from his pocket.

“ _What_ , Roman?” he growled.

“ _Virgil?_ ” Patton’s shrill voice came over the receiver. 

Virgil yanked the phone away from his ear to check the number; sure enough, it was Patton’s. _Shit_. He’d been so sure it was Roman he hadn’t even checked before answering.

“ _Virge! Virge, are you there?_ ” 

Virgil shook himself and put the phone back to his face.

“Yeah, sorry, what’s up, Padre?”

“ _I’m so sorry, Virgil, I know it’s late, but I didn’t know who else to call. He’s gone and I don’t know what to do!_ ”

Now that Virgil had gotten over his confusion, he realized that the other changeling sounded absolutely frantic.

“What?” He frowned. “Who’s gone?”

“ _He didn’t even leave a note! Virge, his glasses and clothes and jacket are gone and he’s not answering his phone, and it’s not here because I looked for it, and I_ know _it’s charged because he plugged it in before we went to bed—!_ ”

Virgil felt dread pooling in his stomach. “Patton! _Who is gone_?”

Patton took a breath on the other end. 

“ _Logan. I got up to get some water and his side of the bed was empty. He’s just…gone._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petunia:  
>  _resentment, anger, your presence soothes me_


	37. Astilbe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All right, new plan, boys...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Wait For Me" from Hadestown

_how to get to hadestown_  
_you’ll have to take the long way down_

Less than ten minutes after the call, a jittery Virgil and a groggy, puffy-eyed Roman sat down together in Kate and Rosa’s room. Kate took the van to fetch Patton while Rosa stayed behind with the boys, handing them both protein bars and starting the coffee maker. 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she commented as the coffee brewed. 

“Do you really believe that?” Roman asked dryly.

Rosa shrugged. “I have to say it, regardless.”

Virgil took a bite of his bar, too keyed up to even taste it. _Logan is gone_ , his sleep-deprived brain kept repeating, over and over. _Logan is gone._

The door opened, revealing a grim-faced Kate and a rumpled, exhausted Patton. Virgil didn’t think; he seized his friend in a hug. Patton was trembling like a leaf and looked like he’d thrown his clothes on in the dark. He hadn’t even bothered with his beloved cat hoodie. 

Roman came over and wrapped his arms around them both, adding his warm, vibrant presence to the cuddle pile. For a moment, fights and feelings and time apart didn’t matter. They were just three friends, desperately finding comfort in each other.

“All right, let’s think this through,” Kate said when they broke apart. “Patton, are you sure he isn’t just out on a late night grocery run or whatever?”

“At 3AM?” Rosa muttered, handing Kate a steaming paper cup.

Patton shook his head. “He wouldn’t just disappear for food without telling me, and he wouldn’t ignore his phone.”

Virgil accepted his coffee and took a grateful sip; it was awful, but it was caffeine.

“Just to be sure, let’s all ring his number one more time,” Kate suggested.

They did, taking turns, but all the calls went straight to voicemail. 

“Do you think your Deceit is onto us?” Rosa offered solemnly. “Could he have been kidnapped?”

Virgil hadn’t even thought of that, and from the wide-eyed look Roman shot him, neither had he. Patton, though, shook his head again. 

“Logan would have put up a fight, which I would have heard. Plus, I don’t think a kidnapper would have bothered with his coat, glasses, _and_ phone.”

“Could he have been thralled?” Kate asked.

“Half-faery,” Rosa and Patton said simultaneously, making Patton chuckle.

“Logan has enough fae blood that he’s pretty much impossible to thrall, except maybe by a _really_ strong Court Fae,” he explained, unconsciously smiling as he did. 

“Let's assume for a moment that Deceit does know we’re coming,” Roman started, rubbing his chin. 

“We don't _know_ anything—” Virgil cut in. 

“Can I finish?” Roman eyed him with a flat glare.

Virgil sarcastically raised his hands in surrender. 

“If Deceit knows about the mission, then he’d have to know how we’re dividing our forces.” Roman leaned forward. “He’d know we’re coming for Rapunzel. If he's trying to stop us, why kidnap _Logan_ , instead of someone from the rescue team? Why not Rosa?”

“Let him try,” Rosa muttered, earning a grin from her wife.

“He’s already got one Founder,” Virgil said. “Let’s not push our luck.”

But Roman had a point. Strategically, Deceit kidnapping Logan made no sense. Nobody in Smile particularly liked or even _knew_ Logan other than the people in this room; if Deceit had wanted to demoralize them, he should have taken one of their leaders. 

Heck, even _Roman_ would have been a smarter target, if only for the revenge factor.

Which meant, logically, that Logan had gone somewhere on his own. 

But what could be so important that he’d vanish right before a crucial mission? Why would he turn his phone off? Virgil’s fingers closed around his bear pendent, wishing they could somehow use it to locate him…

…he remembered the guarded look on the half-faery’s face when he’d given it to him…

…he remembered Logan’s argument with Kate, about him wanting to be on the rescue team…

…and all the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

“Shit,” he said aloud, drawing everyone’s attention. He looked at Kate. “He went after Razpunel.”

Kate’s eyes widened.

Patton looked between them. “Wait, what?”

“Now, Virgil, we can’t…we don’t know that,” Kate said, holding up her hands.

“Trollshit, Kate,” Virgil snarled. “I heard you two in the park. He wanted to be on the search team and you wouldn’t let him. Now he’s gone behind your back, _alone_ , and put himself in danger because you were too stubborn to listen!”

Roman abruptly stood; one of the lamp bulbs popped and went dark as he did. 

“Hey, you wanna back off?” 

“Try me, Princey.” Virgil’s chair arm cracked as a tiny vine split the wood. 

“Whoa, whoa, that is enough!” Patton stepped between them, cloyingly soft calming vibes rippling in his wake. “Are you saying that Logan has gone into _Arcadia_ , in the _summer_ when his powers are at their weakest, to try and find his…to find Rapunzel?”

“I mean, that would explain why we can’t reach his cell,” Roman said with a frown. “No reception Hedgeside, or...beyond.”

“But without telling anyone?” Patton’s voice grew quieter. “Without telling me?”

He sank down on one of the beds, curling into himself. This time it was Rosa who laid a comforting hand on his arm.

“It’s his mother, Patton,” she said gently, smiling as Patton shot her a startled look. “Yes, Kate and I both know. We know he’s been searching for her all this time, and for the first time in _years_ she is within reach. Who knows what was going through his mind when he left? Maybe he hoped be back before the mission began.”

“Well, we’re not waiting for fucking _noon_ ,” Virgil declared. “Not when we don’t know how long he’s been gone or if anything’s happened to him.”

“For all his faults, Logan is damned smart,” Kate reasoned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He would have planned this down to the last detail. He purposefully went alone. Therefore, I have to imagine that the _worst_ thing we could do right now is go blundering after him.” 

She sighed. 

“I mean, he’s already compromised our surprise; sending in more people before the actual assault in would only make Deceit more likely to bolt or retaliate before we can pin him down.”

“Not to mention us tipping off Deceit might get Logan captured or killed,” Patton pointed out with a frown.

“Screw the mission!” Virgil cried. “We have to get him back.”

“The mission is our surest way to _get_ him back right now,” Kate shot back.

“We can’t wait that long.” Virgil began to pace. “We need to—”

“Virgil!” Kate caught his arm, her eyes hard. “I am as concerned about your fae friend as you are. But do you have any idea how dangerous it would be for my hunters if we went storming in there right now, at night when any Unseelie will have the upper hand? Not all of us have the luxury of focusing on just one person.”

Virgil folded his arms, chastened, and ignored Roman’s smug look. Patton, too, pulled a regretful face.

“Sorry, Kate,” the sunny changeling said.

Quiet fell for a moment as everyone collected their thoughts.

“Look, best case scenario, Nerdy Wolverine shows up in a couple hours with Rapunzel in tow, and we have nothing to worry about,” Roman began, spreading his hands.

“How many of those nicknames does he _have_?” Rosa muttered, earning a snort from Virgil. 

Roman ignored them. “Maybe the smart thing to do right now is to trust he knows what he’s doing.”

“But what if he’s already been caught? What if Deceit has him right now and—” Virgil cut off, swallowing. “What are we gonna do if he doesn’t come back? Are we just gonna rush in there at noon like nothing's wrong?”

“No,” Rosa said, and laid a hand on Kate’s knee when she opened her mouth to protest. “ _No_ , Kate. I know you hate changing plans at the last minute, but Virgil is right. Whether Logan succeeds or not, his actions must be taken into account. If he spirits Rapunzel away, Deceit will quickly discover her absence, and we’ll need to be ready to strike before the faery can retaliate.” 

She shot a compassionate look toward Patton and Virgil. 

“And if Logan fails, then our mission must include his rescue as well as Rapunzel’s. In either instance, I fear noon would be too late.”

Patton made a soft, choked noise, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, while Rosa rubbed his back. Virgil gripped his pendant, irrational fury thrumming in his veins. He wanted to hit something, scream, fight with Roman, _anything_ besides just sit here.

“Why didn’t he just _tell_ us?” Kate stalked to the coffee maker, huffing when she realized they’d drank it all. “If he was always planning to throw off the whole operation, the least he could do was let someone _know_.”

 _Kate’s right_ , Virgil realized, _why_ would _Logan do this to us? To Patton?_

Feelings aside, there was no excusing it. What the half-faery had done was just…uncharacteristically selfish. Bitterness shot through Virgil at the thought. 

He was all too familiar with selfishness.

_I would have been long gone from here, if Patton hadn’t called..._

Roman moved to sit on Patton’s other side. 

“Hey Watson,” he said in a tender voice. “Your Sherlock is gonna be fine, okay? He knows how to play his advantages. I remember him once saying that nighttime gives him a little power boost.” 

Patton sniffed, and nodded. Roman gathered the freckled changeling into his arms, but his dark eyes fixed on Virgil’s face. 

“He’ll be back,” he said firmly. “And he’ll be fine.”

Virgil bit his lip and looked away, hating how obvious his thoughts must have been. 

He wanted to point out that Deceit was equally as smart as Logan, in his own way, and far more ruthless…but that would only make Patton more upset. 

_Deceit was Patton’s master, too. He already knows the stakes._

“How long should we wait, though?” Roman added quietly as Kate took the seat he had vacated. “I mean, before we decide…how to move ahead?”

“I say sunrise.” Kate steepled her fingers. “That gives Logan time to get his ass back here, or not. And it gives me a chance to update Raze and Corey on the situation. Say around six thirty, let’s rendezvous at the same park as yesterday.”

“I should probably go back to our room, then,” Patton declared, standing up. “In case that’s where he goes first.”

Rosa nodded. “We’ll drive you.”

“You two ought to try and get some more sleep,” Kate added to Virgil and Roman as she and Rosa walked Patton to the door. “Call if he shows up here; we’ll do the same.”

“Bold of her to assume we were sleeping in the first place,” Virgil grumbled as they left.

Roman rolled his eyes and went to the door as well, leaving Virgil scrambling to follow.

They didn’t sleep.

Upon reentering their room, Roman seized his sword and tried to go out to the parking lot to practice; Virgil grabbed his arm and told him not to be an idiot. This led to a short shouting match and sulking silence on both their parts, which Roman finally broke by switching on the TV. He mindlessly flipped channels as Virgil stared out the window, watching the sky grow lighter.

Both their phones remained damnably silent.

Every idle minute wound Virgil's anxiety tighter. 

_He’d be back by now, if he was coming back. We shouldn’t be waiting. Something’s wrong and we shouldn’t be waiting._

“It’s nearly 6,” Roman finally said in a toneless voice. “I’m gonna go change.”

Virgil hummed, and Roman disappeared into the bathroom with his “mission” clothes. Virgil, already dressed in his usual black jeans, black tank, and hoodie, had no such need. 

As Roman came back out, gathering his wild hair into a messy tail, he scoffed at Virgil dabbing patchouli oil behind his ears. 

“You gonna charm Deceit with your manly scent?” he muttered.

“It helps my anxiety, dipshit,” Virgil shot back.

Roman’s mouth twisted, and he went back to buckling his sword sheath to his belt. Virgil’s stomach clenched. 

_Weapons, right._

He dug around in his duffle and unearthed his own stash: three sheathed knives, borrowed from the murder’s collection, handed to him by Kate before they’d left on this mission. Laid out on his bed, they looked nothing like the wooden practice knives he’d trained with. These were graceful, polished things with scarred sheathes, handles worn shiny from use, and well-maintained, lethal edges. 

Two for his waist, one for his leg. 

Naturally, the leg sheath was the one that gave him trouble.

“Here,” Roman said finally, coming up behind as he struggled to attach it. 

The other changeling’s hands were all business as he passed the harness around Virgil’s thigh and buckled the straps. He was careful, Virgil noticed, not to touch anywhere he absolutely didn’t have to. 

The knives were a solid weight at his side as Roman straightened up, examining him from head to toe. For once, his expression was all Smile: calculating instead lovesick, which, weirdly, gave Virgil a spark of confidence. Maybe they still had a shot today, despite Logan’s rashness. 

They would rescue him, and Rapunzel, and hopefully still kill or capture Deceit. 

And then Virgil would, at the very least… _finally_ …be free of Arcadia. 

Kate, Rosa, Patton, and the other Smile leaders were waiting at the park when the two arrived. Virgil already knew in his heart that Logan hadn’t returned; one look at Patton’s grim face confirmed it.

“All right.” Kate rubbed her hands together. “We have to assume, at this point, that Deceit knows we are coming, and that Logan is either incapacitated, captured, or dead.”

Virgil swallowed and shot a look at Patton, expecting the other to blanch at Kate’s bluntness. 

Patton’s freckled hands rhythmically clutched at the sleeves of his beloved cat hoodie, tied around his shoulders as always, but otherwise his stance and expression held only determination. 

“The frontal assault team will sweep the Penitentiary as planned,” Kate went on. “But I have cut the search team down to four, split into two pairs, so as to draw less attention. Roman, you are now coming with me to search for Rapunzel.”

“Wait, what?” Roman frowned. “Why not Rosa?”

The two women exchanged a glance. 

“I am your most experienced changeling,” Rosa explained. “However, when the mission depended upon surprise, it made more sense for me to be in Arcadia, aiding the search. Now that the surprise is likely spoiled, Kate and I feel that my magic will be more useful than my Arcadian knowledge.”

“Deceit may have allies,” Kate added. “And we still aren’t sure where all those kidnapped fetches fit into this, or even if they do at all. We just don’t know what to expect now, and Rosa’s sleep thrall is an advantage the main team will likely need more than we will.”

Despite their matter-of-fact demeanor, Virgil guessed from Kate’s worried eyes and Rosa’s lip biting that separating, for the good of the mission, had not been an easy decision, and he admired them all the more for it. 

“And the second pair?” Virgil asked.

Kate’s mouth compressed. “I don’t necessarily like this, but Patton is Logan’s partner—”

“And I am a Grimm,” Patton interrupted, lifting his chin. “I can find him.”

“And so Virgil; you’re going with him,” Kate finished. “Obviously, your job is to find Logan and get out.”

Roman frowned, again, at this. 

“Kate? I thought…I thought you wanted them both as backup, so…” he shot a small, sharp look at Virgil, “…so they wouldn’t get hurt?”

“I am going with Virgil,” Patton interrupted, adjusting his glasses in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Logan, his voice low and fierce. “And we are going to find him.”

And it was obvious no one was willing to argue with him on that point.

Virgil, despite the stab of jealousy that _Patton_ was allowed to be fiercely protective of the half-faery, that _Patton_ was allowed to show worry and nobody would question it…he couldn’t help a small smile. Everyone dismissed Patton as a soft little puffball…even Virgil was guilty of it, at times…but when pushed, Patton possessed a core of iron as tough as any of them. 

_He_ was _a former Erie Grimm, after all._

Rosa, after she and Kate shared a soft moment that all three boys respectfully looked away from, went with the other captains to join the rest of Smile at the front gate. 

Kate unslung a backpack and pulled out a coil of rope and something sharp and metal that Virgil had only ever seen in movies.

“A grappling hook?” he asked, incredulous.

“Duh, Count Woe-laf, how did you think we were getting over the wall?” Roman snapped back with an eye roll. 

Virgil refused to dignify him with a response.

Kate attached rope to hook with a series of practiced knots, and ordered them to stand back.

“Been a while since I’ve done this,” she quipped, spinning the hook and tossing it toward the wall. 

Virgil really hoped nobody from the houses across the street could see them through the trees. The first throw hit the top of the wall but didn’t catch. Her second throw was perfect. 

“Lucky shot,” Virgil commented, impressed.

“Indeed. Thank you, Roman,” Kate quipped, giving the rope a few tugs to make sure it wouldn’t slip. 

Roman responded to Virgil’s sour glare with a wink and finger guns, making him fold his arms. Honestly, Virgil had gotten so used to Roman’s changeling power shorting out lightbulbs that he’d forgotten how useful that “luck” was, when properly focused. 

Again, he felt a little twinge of hope.

“The closest Hedge gap is somewhere inside the courtyard on the other side of the wall,” Kate told them. “Our sources tell us that the volatile history of this place has made every crossing a little unstable, so be prepared for some head-fuckery and temporal glitching as you go through. Also, once we get inside and especially once we cross the Hedge, do _not_ speak that faery’s name.”

“It’s just a nickname,” Patton pointed out, but Kate shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter. We have to assume he’ll be listening for any reference to himself.”

They all nodded.

“Virgil,” she added, crooking her finger, “a word?”

Virgil’s heart sped as she led him a short distance from the other two. 

“I would much rather send you in there with Roman, if I have to send you at all. He has experience and you don’t,” she told him bluntly. “But Patton wanted you, specifically, and with you and Roman at odds…”

Virgil quickly shook his head. 

“This way is better. Even if we weren’t fighting, Roman and I going after Logan together would be…” He paused, biting his lip. He had no idea how much Roman had told her about his and Logan’s history. “Weird,” he concluded, shrugging. 

“Logan’s a sore subject between you guys, eh?” Kate said gently. Her sharp green eyes flickered amongst the three, and narrowed. “And yet somehow Patton trusts you, and you alone, and you two seem thick as thieves.”

Virgil sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Patton was my best friend in Arcadia, long before any of this,” he explained. “We’ve known each other since we were small, went through a lot of shit together. That…transcends a lot, you know?”

Kate nodded sadly. “I get it. Rosa’s been Earthside now longer than she was ever in Arcadia, but...let's just say I don’t envy you changelings that experience.”

Roman’s sudden laughter drew Virgil’s eye. He and Patton were talking animatedly, Roman flailing his arms and Patton giggling. 

Something in Virgil’s heart beat a little sideways.

“Look, Kate…please don’t let Roman do anything stupid? Deceit is at the heart of a lot of what’s wrong between us, and I know Roman wants his kill, but…you know how he is.”

Kate patted his shoulder.

“Roman is like a son to me,” she said, glancing fondly over to where Roman and Patton huddled. “Usually I can curb his more reckless tendencies.”

“I _do_ care about the idiot, even if…” Virgil trailed off again, sighing.

Kate pressed her lips together, her green eyes dark. 

“You know, for as many years as I’ve known that boy, I’ve honestly never seen him more at peace than he’s been this last month, since you came.” She chuckled. “Roman is bravado incarnate, so it can be hard to see, but…” She fixed Virgil with a look. “You balance him, in a way that no one else does.”

A bitter scoff escaped Virgil’s lips before he could stop it. 

Kate frowned. 

“Think what you will, but a word of advice? If you really do care, once this is all over, for pity’s sake _tell him_. He deserves to hear it from you.”

With that she strode back, leaving a contemplative Virgil to follow.

“All right, boys.” Kate rubbed her hands together. “Who’s first over the wall?”

Roman laced his fingers and flexed them. 

“Out of the way, plebes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Astilbe:  
>  _i’ll still be waiting_


	38. Snapdragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into Arcadia...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Masters of Destiny" by Delain

_i trace the stars and map and mourn until my misery_  
_its single light up in the sky, i’ll bind it back to me_  
_i can’t escape my destiny_

They regrouped in the prison courtyard; a desolate nook of cracked concrete and scrawny grass. 

Virgil spotted the Hedge gap immediately: an ancient, rust-covered door, accessed by a short staircase, at the corner where the two outer walls met. Originally it probably led up to the guard tower. Now the whole wall shimmered with that fae, eye-bending, “not quite there” aura, stronger and greener and more leftward than anything Virgil had ever seen. 

Kate was right; this place did feel unstable. 

They all paused on the threshold. 

“Roman and I will go through first,” Kate warned. “Virgil and Patton, don’t panic if you don’t see us when you cross; gaps in a tangle like this don’t necessarily line up. The more important thing is to not get separated from each other. Got it?”

Nods all around.

Kate seized Roman’s hand and yanked on the Hedge door’s grimy handle. It swung open with a loud groan, which made them all glance nervously around the gloomy courtyard. 

Roman brushed a hand against Virgil’s arm, looking like he had a million things he wanted to say.

“Safety straps off, apprentice,” was what he settled on. “May the Force be with you.”

“Really?” Virgil said dryly, prompting a shrug.

He exhaled, flicking open the straps holding his knives in their sheathes. Kate stepped through the Hedge door with Roman on her heels; Virgil got a brief glimpse of darkness and branches before they had disappeared into the gloom. 

“Shall we?” Patton asked in a small voice, staring into the darkness beyond the doorway.

Virgil exhaled, and shook his head. “Waiting won’t make us or them any safer.” 

He held out a hand; Patton gripped it. Their palms felt feverishly warm against each other. Virgil took a hesitant step…

…and staggered back in shock when the entire doorway vanished.

“The _fuck_?” Virgil exclaimed, his voice cracking. Had he been any closer, he’d have been digging the toe of his boot or his _nose_ out of solid brick. He slapped the wall, hoping it was just a weird illusion, but the brick was solid under his hand. “No, no, _no_ , how are we supposed to get through?”

Patton knocked on the now-blank wall a few times as well, blue eyes contemplative behind their glasses. 

“I’ve heard of this happening in older, unstable Hedge tangles,” he said slowly. “Sometimes the gaps themselves go in and out of phase.” He huffed, and folded his arms. “There’s not much we can do, I guess, other than wait for it to phase back?”

“We don’t have time!” Virgil yanked at his bangs, feeling his heartbeat accelerate. “We could be discovered at any moment, plus what good will it do when Kate and Roman find Rapunzel if we don’t find Logan? Who knows what D— what that damned Fae is doing to him! We’ve already wasted hours! Every second we delay—”

“Then we find another door.” Patton laid a gentle hand on Virgil’s heaving shoulder. “Virge. Panicking won’t help Logan right now. There’ll be dozens of gaps in a tangle the size of this prison; we’ll find one.”

Virgil did a slow, even, 4-7-8 breath. “You’re right.”

The two crept back down the narrow staircase and set off across the courtyard, keeping close to the walls. 

_Not that it’ll do any good_ , Virgil thought, eyeing the high walls and gaping guard towers to his left, and the high, barred, empty windows lining the inner buildings. _They don’t exactly make it easy to stay out of sight in a prison._

Anyone…or any _thing_ …could be looking down at them, and they’d never know it.

“I feel like we’re being watched,” he muttered, rubbing the prickly back of his neck.

Patton only shrugged, either in agreement or annoyance. 

They passed several single-story, cobble bricked buildings, each with an open barred door that led to darkness inside. Creepy, but nothing that looked particularly fae. The juxtaposition of old, rusted metal and new, plastic tour signs was stark in the early morning light. 

“You know we’re just going to have to pick one,” Virgil snapped as they passed the third such opening. Patton stopped, and sighed.

“I wish we had Founder Hansel here,” he mused. 

“Pathfinder Hansel?” Virgil asked.

Patton nodded. “They say he can find any Hedge gap within a hundred yards of himself. I’ll bet he could navigate even a tangle this big…” He trailed off, hugging his middle. 

“Patton?” Virgil gripped Patton’s shoulders, shocked to see tears glimmering in the other changeling’s eyes.

“What if he’s not even here, Virge?” he asked on a shuddering breath. “What if we’re just rats in a maze? You remember how Deceit—”

Virgil slapped a hand over Patton’s mouth a moment too late. Patton realized his mistake at the same moment, his blue eyes widening to saucers. 

The silence stretched out as they waited, frozen where they stood, practically breathing each other’s breaths. But though the feeling of being observed intensified in Virgil’s anxious mind, the prison courtyard remained empty, and desolate, and eerily quiet. 

Slowly, Virgil removed his hand.

“I swear on every faery god in existence…someone’s watching us,” Virgil hissed.

Patton shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Would it change anything we’re doing right now?”

Virgil pursed his lips. “I guess not.”

Maybe Roman’s luck was holding for all of them. Maybe it was all in his head.

“Then why worry about it?” Patton flashed him a weak grin, making Virgil roll his eyes. 

“Patton,” Virgil said softly, his voice cracking. “Why me?”

“Why you what?” Patton tilted his head.

“You could have asked for anyone to come with you for this.” Virgil spread his hands. “You could have taken Roman or Kate. I can’t…you know I can’t protect you, I barely know how to use these stupid things.” He gestured at his knives. “Why did you specifically ask Kate to put you with _me_?”

Patton sighed, running hands through his curls. 

“I didn’t really think it through like that,” he admitted with a wry smile. “You were always my partner in Arcadia, and you’ve known Logan the longest. No one else would care about...about both of us, the way you do.”

Virgil shuddered, wrapping arms around himself.

“Come on,” he whispered at last, nodding towards the cobble bricked building to their right and its gaping door. 

He led the way past a slatted trash can and yet another tour sign. Just inside were cracked beige walls and rows of doorless cells. His senses tingled with…something, and then it was gone, like it never was. He turned to ask Patton if he felt anything…

Patton wasn’t there. 

Virgil’s heart seized; there was only the arched entrance, bright against the dimness. 

_Don’t get separated_ , Kate’s voice echoed in his ears as pure adrenaline flooded his system. 

“Patton!” he rasped in a strangled voice.

“What happened?” Patton’s head popped out of the cell to Virgil’s left, nearly causing him to shout in surprise. 

“Cursed Fae Queens, Patton, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he hissed, stalking to the other changeling. “What the fuck are you doing in there?”

“Sorry.” Patton fiddled sheepishly with the sleeves of his cardigan. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought I saw a Hedge glimmer.” 

Virgil craned his head, looking into the empty cell, seeing only rusty metal bars and cobbled walls and dirt. 

“There’s nothing, I already checked,” Patton added, stepping around Virgil and out. “Let’s just keep going.”

“Look, don’t…don’t disappear like that again, you hear me?” Virgil grated, following. “We already know we're being watched; I don’t want everything to go sideways the moment we let our guard down, okay?”

“The anxiety isn’t helping.” Patton side-eyed him, a spark of defiance glittering in those blue eyes. Virgil’s hackles instinctively rose…but Patton was right, anxiety would _not_ help, and there was no point in arguing.

They searched that first building, finding nothing but empty cells and dark hallways. Patton seemed inclined to lead and Virgil let him, because really, what did it matter? They were relying on pure, dumb luck to stumble across another Hedge gap, and only then would the _real_ mission begin. 

Virgil knew logically that they’d cover more ground by splitting up, but there was also no way he was letting Patton out of his sight again. 

They entered a second block of cells and this time, Patton stopped short on the threshold. 

Virgil frowned. “What?”

“It’s Logan.” Patton’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “I can…feel his emotions, I think, somehow? He has to be nearby.”

Virgil closed his own eyes, mentally reaching out for anything unusual, but nothing registered. 

Patton had never exhibited or even mentioned an ability to locate people with his empath powers. _I guess he could have learned sometime in the last five years_ , Virgil thought, frowning, _but why wouldn’t he have tried it last night? Does he have to be within a certain range, or…?_

“Are you sure? I don’t—”

“Just trust me?” Patton patted Virgil’s back. “You aren’t as close to him as I am, that’s all.” 

It took all of Virgil’s willpower to keep his expression neutral. Patton surely hadn't _meant_ the words to come out as patronizing as they had. 

_It’s a statement of fact, after all_ , his mind added bitterly. _Why do you take everything so personally?_

“Come on,” Patton added, grabbing Virgil’s hand in his cool, slightly clammy one. 

He led them unerringly to a cell at the far end with a cracked, crumbling wall, and sure enough, the small gap in the wall shimmered with fae energy. They’d have to practically crawl to make it through, but it was an entrance.

“I’ll go first—” Patton started, but Virgil gripped his shoulders and moved him aside.

“I don’t think so, Padre.” He knelt down and peered into the Hedge. “I have at least a little Smile training and you hate violence. Plus, you’re a hell of a lot more scared than you’re acting.”

“What makes you say that?” Patton sounded almost amused.

“Your hands are fucking cold,” Virgil shot back, glancing up to see a look of genuine shock pass over the other’s face before he covered it with a smile. 

“Well, I guess we’d better _flurry_ along, eh?” he said with an over-the-top wink, and then chuckled. “I’m silly like that.”

“Yikes.” Virgil winced, getting on his hands and knees. “Even your pun game is off.”

The two wiggled through the narrow opening, which morphed from stone to bramble as they went. Pushing thorny branches aside, Virgil scrambled to his feet next to the familiar Hedge wall and helped Patton up behind him. 

The Hedge was unnaturally dark here: branches curving blackly over their heads, the very air felt alive with malevolent amusement. Virgil rubbed his prickling arms under his hoodie as Patton pulled out a tiny pen light and clicked it on.

“Definitely Unseelie,” Virgil whispered as Patton swept the weak, incandescent light along the ground at their feet. It did very little to push back the dark, but it was better than nothing. 

“This Hedge tangle is generated by an old Bale castle,” Patton murmured, gesturing at the opposite thorny wall. “Some Lord or other held court there, centuries ago. Abandoned now, except for…opportunists.”

For a moment, Virgil swore he saw something flash in Patton’s left iris, making his breath catch in alarm…but when he looked again it was only the flashlight’s reflection in the other’s glasses. 

“You sound like Logan sometimes,” he muttered, and then cringed. He hadn’t meant to sound so wistful.

“Well, you know how he is with facts.” Patton smiled.

“At least he knew what he was walking into.” Virgil shook his head. _Not that it did him much good._

They crossed to one of the Arcadian gaps…they all looked the same on this side; Virgil supposed it didn’t matter which one they picked…and Patton lay a hand on an old, rusty doorknob. 

It swung open at his touch, spilling mist and more darkness at their feet. Patton swept his light around and marched forward, through the door, tendrils of mist swirling languidly around his legs, like it was welcoming him back…like this place was welcoming them both back…

Virgil had to stop, and exhale, and clench his fists until they stopped trembling.

Then he stepped through.

He was in Arcadia.

He was in _Arcadia_ , in what felt like the heart of Unseelie territory. The last place any sane human would go, if they wanted to _stay_ sane...and _human_ …and alive.

_Fae gods damn it, Logan…the things I do for you._

“Everything okay?” Patton asked, seemingly completely unaffected. But then again, Patton was skilled at hiding his true feelings. 

_Get it together, Virgil._ He took a deep breath, stoking the large purple patch on his hoodie arm. _Logan needs you, and Patton, and Roman and Kate…they all need you._

“Yeah.”

They passed under a high arch into an outside courtyard, and Virgil’s heart seized at the sight of the cursedly beautiful Arcadian sky. 

The Faerie Realm was a reality composed of Contracts and clauses instead of atoms and molecules, and as such, normal physical rules didn’t always apply. Rayleigh scattering in the atmosphere was one of them. This meant that although the sun had risen on this side of the Hedge, the sky remained black over their heads. Arcadian stars were brighter than their Earth counterparts; thousands of tiny, colorful halos. 

Fat, sprawling trees with oozing bark grew at intervals in the castle courtyard; misshapen purple fruits dripped like mangos from long hanging stems. The smell was a heady mixture of plum and burnt sugar, but Virgil knew better than to be tempted by anything from an Unseelie tree. If that fruit didn’t poison him outright, he might sprout an extra limb, or lose the ability to speak except in backward sentences, or be compelled to keep eating until he burst. 

They’d emerged from an outbuilding, one of several scattered around the courtyard; the castle proper crouched a few hundred yards away. 

Unlike the soaring Disney castles that Roman was obsessed with, the Bale structure sprawled like a dozen hunched giants, with massive, crumbling rectangular sections made of stone slabs that weighed you down just by looking at them. Tiny towers jutted here and there from the walls, lined with murder holes and arrow slits. 

Whatever doors had once barred the main entrance must have long ago rotted away, leaving a vast stone arch open to darkness.

“Where would a faery keep a prisoner?” Virgil mused aloud, rubbing his chin. “We should probably look for a dungeon or something…Patton!”

Patton had started off toward the entrance, pale skin and ginger curls starkly visible against the monochromatic landscape. Virgil seized his arm and pulled him into the shadow of a burnt-sugar-plum tree.

“Are you crazy?” he hissed. “We can’t just walk in the front door!”

“Why not?” Patton asked. 

“Because…!” Virgil ran harsh fingers through his bangs. The quiet surety in Patton’s voice sent a frisson of doubt through him. “Because we don’t want anyone to see us!”

“He knows we’re coming for Logan.” Patton’s glasses caught the glare of his flashlight, obscuring his eyes. “He’s smarter than us, far more prepared, and we are in his dominion now. There is no possible way we will get past him unawares.”

Virgil blinked. “So, what, we should just give up? The _fuck_ , Patton?”

Patton laid a cool hand on his arm. “I’m saying if that faery really wanted to stop us, he would have done it already. He has more than enough allies to guard every Hedge gap in this tangle; do you really think he just happened to miss the one we found?”

“How do you know he—?” Virgil protested, but Patton silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that you’ve felt watched this entire time, and yet the only other person you’ve seen is me? Virgil, _think_. We have been allowed to get this far.”

The truth of Patton’s words began to sink in, along with a wave of dread. 

_Kate and Logan and all their plans, their confidence, somehow it all made me forget that this is a trap. It has _always_ been a trap. _

Patton smiled grimly. “The best thing we can do for Logan is get to him as quickly as possible, and find out what our former master wants with him.”

“So this isn’t really a rescue mission at all.” Virgil chewed his lip and met Patton’s gaze. “It’s a hostage negotiation.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Patton smiled, fiercely, and there was the iron core under all that softness.

Virgil pressed his lips together, eyeing the castle and its eerily unguarded entrance. Something about this whole situation felt _off_. It itched at the back of his mind, like a door left unlocked, like a stove left on…like he was missing something obvious. 

Waltzing up to the front gate still felt monumentally stupid, but Patton had made too many good points to ignore. 

“You can still feel him?” Virgil asked, looking away. “Logan, that is?” 

_I wish I could…_

Patton nodded, and stood. 

“We’re gonna get him out, okay?” Virgil said, laying a hand on Patton’s cardigan-clad shoulder. “Trap or not. We’re…”

He trailed off as the other changeling turned, slowly, his blue gaze uncharacteristically dark. Those eyes peered deep into Virgil’s.

“To be honest, I’m surprised you care this much,” he said coldly, then turned to walk toward the castle.

Virgil gaped after him. 

Hang on.

Hadn’t Patton claimed, not twenty minutes ago, that he’d wanted Virgil by his side because he _did_ care? 

_Shit, is he…still mad that I left?_

It was so easy, with Patton, to forget he could be hurt, deeply, perhaps to the point of holding a grudge. And, Virgil remembered guiltily as he followed, he still hadn’t really explained his reasons for leaving.

And it wasn’t like he could do that _now._

Together the two changelings walked under the gaping castle entrance arch. The inside was as maze-like as the penitentiary, but Patton led them unerringly forward, ignoring every branching hallway and door. 

It was unnerving how well he seemed to know where they were going. 

Virgil’s fingers caressed his bear pendant through his shirt, tracing the cool shape. It occurred to him that Patton might be so desperate to find Logan that he was imagining this whole “feeling” thing…but he feared pointing that out would cause Patton to snap again. 

“Stop that,” Patton said sharply, not even turning to face him. “It’s distracting.”

Virgil swallowed and dropped his hand. 

_I’ll be damned; maybe he_ is _following something._

They continued to encounter no one and nothing, not even a lone cockroach. 

Their hallway opened into a high-ceilinged space, interspersed with sequoia-like pillars. The walls were crumbled and roof had long since rotted away, leaving large gaps open to to barren, Unseelie hills and starry sky. Sunbeams and shadows crisscrossed the smooth tiled floor, the light catching specks of mica like tiny glass shards. 

The unnatural stillness made Virgil’s ears ring. He drew one of his knives, its small weight reassuring in his grasp.

Patton was right: this whole place was far too quiet, and far too empty to be the base of operations for a faery bent on revenge. Either they were in the wrong place entirely…and Virgil refused to consider that possibility…or Deceit was letting them through for some nefarious purpose of his own.

But if they wanted Logan back, what choice did they have but to go on? 

A pair of tall, black doors loomed ahead. Virgil and Patton shared a look, stepped forward, and pushed. They lumbered open with a horror movie-worthy creak, revealing an even larger space. 

These walls soared over their heads, supported by fat gothic buttresses that peaked along the central seam of the hall. A shallow, black stone dais rose from the floor’s exact center, big enough that a curled up yearling dragon could have slept there comfortably. A shadowy, sharp-edged obsidian throne sat in the exact center, mostly in one piece, although some of the spikes and decorative carvings had been smashed. 

The Bale throne room…because that’s clearly what this hall had to have been…was otherwise bereft, except for two figures sprawled motionless at the foot of the throne: a black woman Virgil didn’t recognize, and…

“Logan!” Virgil cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snapdragon:  
>  _graciousness, deception_


	39. Monkshood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when your best friend picks a fight in the middle of a rescue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Under Your Spell" by The Birthday Massacre

_you’re the promise that degraded every hope and dream_  
_you’re the whisper at the end of every hopeless scream_

Virgil rushed forward, only to have his arm seized.

“Wait.” Patton frowned. “It could be a trick.”

Virgil exhaled shakily, gripping his dagger so hard his knuckles turned white. Looking closer, he saw that neither Logan nor his mother were restrained, though both were out cold, and Virgil doubted they’d be easy to wake. Patton’s caution made sense; Virgil knew there was no way Deceit would let them simply walk out of here with them. 

Gods knew what tricks that damned faery had up his sleeve…if only he would get _on_ with it…

“I know, I know,” Virgil muttered. “This whole thing is a trap, but he’s right there! What are we supposed to do?” His breathing sped up as he considered possibilities. “Is it not really them? Will moving them trigger some kind of curse? How—?”

Patton once again laid fingers over Virgil’s mouth. 

“You need to calm down, friendo. It’s really him, which means the woman must be Rapunzel. Neither of them look hurt, or in distress, so let’s just slow down a little bit, okay?”

Virgil huffed, hysterical laughter building up in his throat. 

“You do realize who you’re talking to?” he said, pacing. “And no offense Patton, but you’ve been acting weird since this mission started, so quit pretending you’re not affected by this place. In fact, I’m surprised it wasn’t you who was running up to Logan the moment we spotted him—”

“Are you accusing me of _not_ wanting to save my boyfriend?” Patton interrupted.

Virgil stopped short, thrown by the uncharacteristic edge in Patton’s voice…but the word _boyfriend_ scraped sharply across his bramble-scarred heart. 

_He just has to rub it in, doesn’t he?_

“No, of course not, I just—”

“I mean, when it comes down to it, what are you even doing here, Virgil?” Patton put his hands on his hips, dipping his head into a rare but effective Dad Glower. “You think you’re gonna be the big hero and rescue everyone? You’ve had, what, barely a month with Smile and you think you’re some faery killer?”

He emphasized the words by dragging a finger across his throat. Virgil recoiled at the gesture.

“What are you even talking about?” he demanded. “Roman’s the one who cares about _that shit_ , not me.” His gaze slid to where Logan lay; so close, yet so far… 

“I just want him,” he added, his voice breaking a little.

“Is that how it is.”

The knowing tone made Virgil whirl to face Patton, heart pounding. The room cast Patton’s freckled face in shadow, making his expression impossible to read.

“I meant I want to get him out of here!” Virgil said, raising his hands. “It wasn’t…I didn’t mean it like… _that_.”

“Like what, exactly?” Patton tilted his head. 

“Like…” Virgil swallowed hard. 

This was playing out exactly as he’d always feared: Patton discovering how he felt, and angrily confronting him about it. 

_Do I deny it?_

Would Patton even believe him if he did?

“Are we seriously having this conversation _now_?” Virgil spat instead, letting anger cover his fear. 

“Did you seriously think I didn’t know?” Patton stalked closer, the dim light flashing in his glasses. “Were you just going to hide it forever? From an _empath_?”

Virgil’s hands shook. He wanted to run, away from this cursed place and this awful conversation…but they still had to get Logan and Rapunzel out of Arcadia.

“Look, I’m s-sorry,” he stuttered, hunching into himself. “But can we just concentrate on the mission? We’ll talk about it afterward, I swear—”

“No!” Patton snapped. “Because I am trying very hard to figure out how I can trust someone who apparently meant to steal my boyfriend—”

“ _What?_ I never wanted—!” Virgil shouted, but his throat closed around the lie and he choked. _You always thought they were too different to stay together. You always assumed they’d break up._

_You_ wanted _them to break up._

_You wanted Logan for myself…_

“—and then, when you couldn’t get what you wanted,” Patton continued, “you run off to the only other guy who would have you. How is that being a friend, Virgil?” 

“That’s not why I left!” Virgil cried, gripping his head in his hands. Bramble crackled on his next inhale and _no, I can’t have an attack here, not now…!_

“And now here you are, bravely walking into the pit of vipers to rescue your love, and look!” Patton laughed, a high pitched sound Virgil had never heard him make and never wanted to hear again. “You even brought his _boyfriend_ along! How noble of you!”

Every word was another tiny jagged barb in Virgil’s heart. 

He angrily swiped his face, at the tears building in his eyes.

“Let me ask you this, Virgil, and be _honest_. Are you here to kill Deceit…or are you here to impress Logan?” Patton asked, his voice dropping. “Does Roman know why you’re really on this mission?”

“Don’t…don’t drag him into this,” Virgil rasped, glaring at his feet. “That’s not fair.”

Patton stood so close now that his eyes were even with Virgil’s nose. Virgil set his jaw and stood his ground. 

“He does, doesn’t he?” Patton said softly. “Oh, Virgil. That’s just cruel.”

“Stop it!” Virgil jerked away. A cough clawed up his throat.

_He’s right._

He clapped a hand over his mouth, his other fist clenched tightly at his side.

_You’re a coward._

_Patton hates you._

_Roman hates you._

_All of them hate you and you fucking deserve it…_

_Shut up!_ Virgil screamed, but it came out as a wrenching cough. 

_You resented Patton because your crush fell in love with him instead of you. You ran off to Roman even though you knew you'd only break his heart._

_You’re a cruel, selfish coward._

“I never meant to…I couldn’t…” Virgil didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. “I’m…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Patton, I just…”

He looked over to where Logan lay, all dark skin and exposed throat and stupid necktie. Even his glasses still perched on his nose, one lens cracked but miraculously still in one piece.

“Don’t look at him!” Patton snarled. “Don’t you dare.”

_You don’t deserve to look him._

Virgil’s knees gave out and he crumpled, coughing, and then he was choking on flowers pushing their way up, pain lancing through his body. Dimly he heard the throne room doors crash open, and shouting, and then there were familiar, warm hands under his arms, lifting him up.

“…Kate, they’re in here! Virgil! Stormcloud, breathe for me, please?” 

Roman’s scarlet ochre voice cut through the static in his head and the pain in his chest. He spat, and sucked in a desperate breath.

“There you are,” Roman murmured as Virgil’s eyes fluttered back open. 

“Patton, what the hell is going on?” Kate’s voice demanded. “What happened to Virgil?”

A bruised and tired Kate was staring down Patton, both short swords out and dark with some unknown substance. An expressionless Patton glanced over at Virgil, who couldn’t hide a wince.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Patton said calmly. “We were just having a discussion and he collapsed.”

Virgil felt Roman’s arms around him tense. 

He glanced at the other changeling, cataloging sweat and several tiny cuts across his face; clearly he and Kate had fought their way here. Roman picked up one of the monkshood blossoms Virgil had coughed up, his expression dark and oddly still. 

“And you just let it happen?” Roman said evenly. “For that matter, why were you ‘having a discussion’, instead of, I dunno, _rescuing your boyfriend_?”

Patton sighed; a tiny smile flitted across his face. 

“Roman, I’ve already explained this to Virgil; we have to make sure there are no curses or traps before we try to move them. Can you not be a _complete_ hothead, please?”

Roman frowned outright at that; even Kate raised an eyebrow. 

“Virgil, can you stand?” Roman murmured, barely moving his mouth.

“Yeah,” Virgil rasped. His chest hurt but the worst of the attack had passed. “But what are you going to…Roman!”

Roman strode over to Logan and, without any hesitation, knelt down and shook him.

“Roman—” Patton started in a warning voice.

“Hey, Calculator Watch!” Roman yelled, none-too-gently slapping Logan’s cheeks. “Are you cursed?”

“Are you _crazy_?” Virgil rushed in to grab Roman’s arm. “Patton’s right, we don’t know what…”

He trailed off with wide eyes as Logan stirred, groaning softly. Roman caught Virgil’s eye in a significant glance. 

“Seriously? Neither of you thought to even _try_ to wake him up?” he said.

“Patton thought we should be careful,” Virgil muttered, a little miffed that waking Logan was apparently that easy.

“Don’t you think it’s weird,” Roman added in a low voice, “that _Patton_ is suddenly the cautious one of you two? And that our soft little puffball wasn’t the first one over here helping you through that attack?”

Virgil looked away, cheeks burning in shame. “That’s my fault, Ro. He…he found out about…you know,” he glanced significantly at Logan, “and he got mad, you know? And—”

“He got mad?” Roman repeated softly. “ _Patton_?”

“I…yeah.” Chills erupted over Virgil’s skin, but Logan chose that moment to sit up, clutching his head. He shakily touched his glasses, frowning through the one cracked lens.

“What happened?” the half-faery muttered. 

“You vamoosed off on your own and got captured, Chillmeister,” Roman said. “Thanks for fucking up our entire plan, by the way. Virgil and Patton found you, and Kate and I—”

“ _Patton_!” Logan snapped, his gray eyes widening. “Patton is here? Where is he?”

_It’s the only name he’s ever going to care about_ , Virgil reminded himself bitterly. _You should be fucking used to it by now._

Patton had approached, cautiously, almost like he was…afraid? Logan stood, swaying before regaining control, and stepped to the edge of the dais. The moment stretched out like a rubber band as Logan stared at Patton and Patton stared back. 

Virgil held his breath. Something was _happening_ here; every anxious nerve in his body buzzed. 

“ _That_ ,” Logan said at last in a low, rough voice, “is not Patton.”

Two significant things happened at once. 

Patton’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, and Roman drew his sword. The metallic rasp sent a chill straight down Virgil’s spine. 

“Logan, what…what are you talking about?” Virgil stammered. “Of course it’s Patton. He’s been with me the whole time!”

Roman and Kate moved as one, flanking Patton from both sides as Logan continued to stare him down. 

“Who has ten fingers and is very confused? This guy,” Patton quipped, holding up his hands. His trademark megawatt grin flashed across his face. “But seriously. You guys are acting really weird right now.” 

“Virgil,” Roman said. “From the time Kate and I left, was Patton ever out of your sight?”

“No!” 

But Virgil’s heart turned over his his chest. 

_Except for that one moment, back in the penitentiary._

Roman saw his expression and nodded, grimly. 

“I knew something smelled fishy here,” he said, twirling his sword.

Logan nodded. “You mean how Patton is clearly—”

Patton lifted an arm and made a twisting gesture, and Logan’s hand slapped over his own mouth.

“ _What is going on?_ ” Virgil demanded, backing away from the whole scene.

His mind played back all the little…oddities, since that moment in the cellblock. The cold hands, the weird confidence, the worse than usual puns. The flash in the iris. The _fight_. He stared at the familiar gray cardigan knotted across Patton’s chest…

Come to think of it… _wasn’t Patton wearing his cat hoodie that morning?_

“Virgil, I don’t have any idea what they’re talking about,” Patton chuckled, breaking Virgil’s frantic train of thought. “It’s _me_.” He touched his chest, leaning forward earnestly. “Aren’t we friends?”

Logan made a strangled noise, but the force holding his hand to his mouth wouldn’t budge. 

“I’m…not so sure we are,” Virgil said softly, searching Patton’s yellow-ringed eyes for…something. Anything.

The sunny changeling’s bright expression froze…but then his head rolled and his face flattened into something contemptuous, and darkly amused, and so eerily _not-Patton_ that Virgil took another step back. 

“Wow, I’m so proud of you, Virgil,” Patton said in a completely different voice, rolling his eyes and mock-clapping. “You’re so mature.”

“Thank…you?” 

Virgil’s stomach lurched. _Nothing_ about this was right…he was so confused…

Logan made another muffled sound, drawing Virgil’s attention, pointing to his hand and then to Patton, who was…smirking? 

“Virgil, I think you have to give Logan permission to speak,” Roman called.

Logan nodded fervently, his eyes wide.

“Permission to _what_?” ” Virgil protested, his voice cracking.

“To unmask him!”

“To…” Virgil stuttered. “Wait, what? Why me?”

“He’s using your belief in him to keep that face on,” Kate added. “You are what he’s getting his power from!”

“But he’s…I don’t…know…” Virgil gripped the little bear under his shirt, gulping for breath.

Patton playfully covered his mouth. 

“Ohhh, I don’t know either, Virgil,” he mocked. “You may not like what you find.”

That wasn’t Patton.

That couldn’t possibly be Patton.

The realization made him grit his teeth.

“Fine. Tell me!” he commanded. 

Logan ripped his hand away from his face, pointed, and yelled, “DECEIT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monkshood:  
>  _danger is near_


	40. Mock Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceit's plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "Mercy Mirror" by Within Temptation

_we are_  
_forever as one in what remains_

“ _Deceit_?” Virgil echoed in horror.

Patton’s freckles and familiar clothes blurred away to reveal a black cape and a smirking, half scaled face.

“Who’s she? Never heard of her,” Deceit drawled, his snake eye flashing. “Honestly Virgil, it’s so _difficult_ to get you riled up. It _didn’t_ take you long enough to figure it out.”

Virgil was too stunned to speak.

“I suppose the hair is meant to be ‘edgy’? Well…” Deceit shook his head. “You did try. Also, I _adore_ the more intense eyeshadow, it totally _doesn’t_ make you look like a raccoon.”

Some of Virgil’s shock caught and smoldered.

“Nice gloves,” he snarked back. “Did you just finish washing some dishes?”

Deceit examined his sleek, yellow-clad fingers…but his eyes flickered to Roman. And the way Roman grinned and twirled his sword, and the way Deceit’s gaze followed, told Virgil the barb had hit a little close to home. 

“…yes,” the faery said. 

Virgil recalled that Roman had cut off most of Deceit’s fingers with that sword, last time they met.

Roman and Kate both advanced on Deceit; the faery’s expression grew flat and serious again.

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” he warned, raising a gloved hand. 

Virgil gasped as two faeries with slender horns and cruel faces detached from the darkness, wicked-looking crossbows poised and aimed at the two Smile hunters. 

_Where the fuck did_ they _come from?_ Virgil ducked down next to Rapunzel. _Have they been here the whole time, while I was alone with ‘Patton’?_

_Were they just waiting for him to reveal himself?_

_Would they have shot me if Roman and Kate hadn’t shown up…?_

His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. 

“Virgil,” Logan said quietly, breaking through Virgil’s noisy thoughts the way only his voice could. “Would you please see to my mother while we take care of this?”

_Rapunzel._

In the shock of unmasking Deceit, Virgil had almost forgotten that she needed help, too. Bless Logan for giving him something to focus on. He needed to calm down, and focus, and they all needed to get the fuck out of here.

Virgil tentatively nudged Rapunzel’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Um, Ms. Ursae? R..Rapunzel? You gotta snap out of it.”

She didn’t stir.

This was the first time Virgil had seen Logan’s mother up close. She looked to be around the same age as Kate and Rosa, with crow’s feet and touches of gray in her long black hair. She was slender and dark, but solid-boned, like Logan. Virgil actually saw a lot of similarities in their facial features: same shape to the eyes, same full lips, same narrow chin. 

Virgil secretly decided that Logan hadn’t inherited _all_ his good looks from his faery father.

“Rapunzel,” he rasped again, shaking her harder. 

When she still didn’t stir, he sat back on his heels and chewed his lip. In a burst of inspiration, he laid his bear pendant on her chest. 

Still nothing.

Why wasn’t she waking up? What was he supposed to _do_? He wished he knew her real name…names had power, especially here in Arcadia proper…but he couldn’t exactly ask now, with Deceit likely to overhear.

Virgil glanced up to see Logan stepping down from the dais. He decided to follow, even though the move took him far closer to Deceit than he wanted. Deceit’s minions had closed in on Roman and Kate; they menaced, and the two Smile hunters menaced back, but neither party could do much of anything until someone decided to start shooting. 

Virgil suspected if Deceit actually wanted them to shoot, they’d have done it while they were still out of sight. That meant the faery wanted Roman and Kate occupied…but unharmed. 

For now.

“I can’t wake her,” he murmured to Logan, his voice cracking. “Whatever he did to her is different than what he did to you.”

Logan’s jaw tightened.

“What have you done to my mother?” he demanded.

Deceit rolled his eyes, licking his teeth with his forked tongue.

“Nothing at all and I resent the question.” 

Logan growled and flexed his hands, sucking warmth from the air. Translucent ice chains crystalized from the air to ensnare Deceit’s arms, yanking them out to either side and towards the floor. Another snapped around his legs with a cold crack. 

Virgil snuck a glance at Logan’s face and swallowed hard; the half-faery’s eyes were blazing white, ice-blue veins spidering across his cheekbones.

Deceit laughed, high pitched and mocking.

“Oh, my dear half breed,” he crooned, flexing his wrists in their icy prisons, “you’re _adorable_.”

Fury flared in Virgil’s heart. _How dare…!_

“I will ask one more time.” Logan’s mahogany voice dropped to something pure Winter Fae, all knife-edged and glacial. “What have you done to Rapunzel? And while we are on the subject, _where is Patton_?”

The last word crackled like frost on a warm window. 

Deceit laughed again, splaying his gloved fingers. “You foolish dummy. I am, and always have been, _Patton_!”

“Wait, _what_?” Virgil shrieked. 

_Was…was it not real…was_ none _of it real…_

“That’s right, changeling,” Deceit chortled. “It was _always_ me.”

“Geez, no,” Roman scoffed from across the room.

Virgil barely heard him.

Everything played back in his head, every moment, every interaction… _we only met Patton after the first fight with Deceit…we met him almost_ right afterward _…I always knew that was too good of a coincidence…Patton died in Arcadia all those years ago and these last few months have been nothing but a lie…_

“…Virgil, _Virgil_!” 

A hand gripped his wrist, blasting cold through his body and momentarily shocking him out of his panic. 

Logan’s worried gray eyes bored into his.

“He is lying,” the half-faery said calmly. 

“Am I?” Deceit shrieked, the sound cutting through Virgil’s momentary calm. He whimpered and covered his ears.

“But what if…what…” 

Virgil felt dizzy, he was going to pass out…

“Sorry to break it to you,” Deceit said, snake eye flashing, “but—”

The throne room doors slammed open. 

Virgil almost sobbed in relief as the hall flooded with a familiar throng, armed with swords, knives, and bows: the assault team. They took out Deceit’s two crossbow-wielding faeries with ruthless Smile efficiency. 

Roman let out a whoop, and then a familiar figure in khakis and a blue polo shirt charged into the hall, cat hoodie flapping around his shoulders. 

“ _Logan_!” 

Patton, the _real_ Patton cried as he spotted the half-faery. 

The two ran at each other and in seconds were locked in an embrace. Virgil made the mistake of gritting his teeth and looking away, meeting Deceit’s eyes in the process. 

“Really, Virgil,” the faery said softly, his features blurring and coalescing into Logan’s dark skin and stormy gaze. The tie was wrong and the smirk was too malevolent, but the illusion was identical enough to make Virgil glance anxiously between the two, _just to be sure._

“It is adorable,” ‘Logan’ said, “how volatile your emotions are.”

The faery even got the voice right.

“Stop it,” Virgil grated.

‘Logan’ grinned evilly. “How could I resist such a feast?”

“Fuck you!” Virgil spat, hugging his middle. 

Deceit shifted back into himself and laughed, and Virgil wondered how he’d ever been fooled. _Of course_ Patton was real. Deceit was a master shapeshifter; Virgil _knew_ that. Logan hadn’t been taken in for a second; even _Roman_ had seen through the obvious lie. 

_It’s because you’re stupid, and pathetic…_

“Virgil!” Patton freed himself and slipped into Virgil’s arms. Virgil buried his face in those ginger curls and thanked all the gods of Arcadia that he wasn’t crazy and this was _real_.

“I’m so sorry for getting separated, Virge!” Patton murmured. “One second I was walking into that building and the next, I was picking myself off the concrete on the other side of the Penitentiary. I went to get Rosa and the others as soon as I couldn’t find you.”

“I should have known it wasn’t you all along,” Virgil rasped, gripping the other tightly.

Patton pulled away with a frown, and Virgil realized he had no idea he’d been impersonated. When Virgil finished filling him in, Patton turned to Deceit, who waggled his fingers within his icy chains.

“Hello, Patton,” he crooned.

“You…took my spot?” Patton asked, frowning.

“It was rather _difficult_.” Deceit shrugged, as best he could with his arms stretched out. He smiled, baring his fangs. “I know all your quirks. You were mine as well, as I’m sure you _don’t_ recall.”

Virgil was impressed that Patton only flinched a little under that gaze.

“But why?” 

“Indeed.” 

Logan slipped up behind them both, cracked glasses flashing in the dim light. “I am beginning to sense that this entire encounter has been quite deliberately orchestrated.”

“Mmm, a _poor_ observation.” Deceit’s eyes flashed yellow and he raised his voice. “In fact, now that everyone is here, I _don’t_ have something to say. If the rest of you _aren’t_ finished traipsing about like anxious vermin, perhaps you _won’t_ gather around.”

Virgil frowned, not liking this at all. 

Most of Smile, to their credit, ignored the faery’s command and continued to scout the enormous throne room. Deceit sighed, loudly and exaggeratedly. 

“Very well, I suppose I _won’t_ give you all something else to occupy your attention.”

The doors burst open and the hall flooded with…humans? 

Virgil had just enough time to register ordinary ears and no changeling eye-rings when a trigger happy Smile hunter fired a crossbow. One of the masked, hooded humans dropped like a puppet, and dissolved into a pile of sticks and wooden joints and twine.

Virgil gasped.

“The fetches,” Kate said at the same moment, up on the dais. She and Rosa had been crouched over Rapunzel, obviously trying to wake her, and just as obviously having no more luck than Virgil. 

Kate raised her voice. “Don’t shoot!”

_Fetches._

They looked exactly like ordinary humans, as per design; wearing ordinary human clothes, plus hoods and bandanas over their faces to obscure identities. God…just the sight of all the little flaws and stiffness and stitches in their movements had Virgil’s fingers twitching, tying knots, weaving pliant flesh into something warmer, stronger… _no_. 

He exhaled, tamping down the instinctive spark in his chest. 

This wasn’t him. 

None of these dolls were his. 

Deceit chuckled, and twisted a hand.

“Oh _no_. It would seem I know all about Smile’s hypocritical rule about not killing fetches,” one of the fetches said, their voice carrying, making everyone whirl. 

“Sentimental humans,” another fetch added.

Virgil felt a chill walk down his spine as he realized what Deceit was doing.

“These are completely under my control,” a child fetch, who couldn't have been more than six, said in a high pitched voice.

“Consider that before doing anything…rash,” the first fetch said.

Several Smile hunters backed away, clearly unnerved.

Deceit smirked.

But Virgil studied the horde. He saw glassy terror behind their eyes, hesitation in their steps that only someone with intimate knowledge of fetch bodies would notice. They menaced Smile in awkward, disorganized knots, but there was a reluctance in their zeal, a flinch and a retreat whenever a Smile member menaced back. 

Deceit might be able to puppet their mouths, but if he ordered them to attack properly, Virgil estimated that they would at least hesitate out of fear. Virgil also suspected Deceit knew this, and would delay giving that order as long as he held the upper hand.

 _Maybe Deceit is reaching the limits of his magic, keeping Rapunzel under thrall and also controlling all these other people. We have to use that._ Virgil gulped. _Which means I need to warn Kate._

Thankfully Deceit was occupied with lolling in his chains and eyeing his small army with a smug expression. Trying to look casual, Virgil leaned close to Logan.

“Can you get him monologuing again?” he murmured. “I may have an idea.”

Logan’s gaze flickered to him and then back, the only indication that the half-faery had heard. 

“I can try and pacify them, too,” Patton murmured from his other side, and closed his eyes. 

Virgil began edging toward the dais, one tiny step at a time. 

Roman, on the other hand, chose that moment to stride across the floor, twirling his sword as he went. He stopped with the point resting directly under Deceit’s chin; a thin line of smoke hissed from the point of contact.

“Can I kill him yet,” Roman asked, mouth curled in disdain.

“Yes, _do_ kill the only Fae capable of reviving the woman you came here to rescue.” Deceit rolled his eyes, even as his scales rippled in obvious discomfort. 

“Wait.” 

Logan held up a hand and Roman backed off, seething, though he still kept his sword raised. 

“You impersonated my partner in order to lead Virgil here, to this hall, where you displayed both Rapunzel and I.” Logan ticked off points with his fingers. “I can only assume you had your minions bait Kate and Roman into this same hall. You abandoned the real Patton to his own devices, when you must have known he would go straight to the rest of Smile. You put me under the lightest of sleeping thralls, broken by a simple touch.”

Deceit waited, his face infuriatingly neutral. 

“Now you are bound and helpless,” Logan continued. At this, Deceit’s mouth twitched upward. Logan’s eyebrows rose.

“Ah. You have more cards up your figurative sleeve, then.”

“So _un-clever_ , half breed,” Deceit crooned. 

Both Patton and Virgil grimaced at that, which only made Deceit’s smile widen.

“Oh, your boys really are quite protective of you, aren’t they?”

Virgil flushed. 

Logan didn’t dignify the taunt with a response…for which Virgil was profoundly thankful…but Roman’s fingers visibly tightened around his sword. It was a small reaction, but to Deceit, it was probably like a neon sign.

“Oh, the tension is _disgusting_.” He threw his head back and actually cackled. “So much angst. I love it. _Do_ please make it stop.”

Roman growled.

“Logan,” he said lowly. “ _Please_ let me kill him. Whatever power he has over Rapunzel, parting that creepy snake face from its body will break it.”

“He does make a good point, Deceit,” Logan said calmly, adjusting his glasses.

“Does he?” Deceit leaned forward, putting all his weight into Logan’s chains, and swayed from side to side. The motion was unsettlingly snakelike. “Killing me might break my thrall, or make it permanent. The question is, are you willing to take the chance?”

Logan’s fingers crept up to fix his tie before his fist clenched and he lowered it again.

“He’s just fucking with you,” Roman pleaded. “He’s a fear feeder; he’s fucking with all of us!”

Deceit’s fingers waggled, and a different fetch from before staggered forward.

“‘Let the avenue to this house be rendered difficult’,” the fetch intoned, the words echoing eerily in the rafters, “and gloomy by mountains and morasses—’

“Oh please, is there a point to this penny dreadful theatricality?” Roman cut in.

Deceit’s expression flattened and his snake eye flashed. 

“Thank you, Roman, I _love_ how you just ruined my dramatic introduction.” He made a sarcastic kissing gesture, as best he could with his arms still chained. “ _So_ good.”

“Well, your face ruined my day,” Roman shot back. “So we’ll call it even—”

He was cut off by his own palm slapping over his mouth.

“Enough, child, time for the adults to speak.” Deceit sneered as Roman visibly fumed. 

“‘Let the doors be of iron,” the faery went on in his own voice, “and let the grating occasioned by opening and shutting them extend a sound that shall deeply pierce the soul.’” 

Silence.

“Inspiring, no?” Deceit spread his fingers. “Humanity…and Smile in particular…has always looked down upon the Unseelie for our cruelty. But then why do humans build places like the prison on the other side of this Hedge? Houses of privation for the condemned? Why, if not to strike fear and helplessness into the hearts of those who would dare rebel against the tyranny of society?”

Roman let out a muffled scoff, but Virgil saw the rest of Smile looking at one another uneasily. Patton raised his hand like he was in a classroom.

“Are we supposed to answer that, or…?” he asked hesitantly. 

“At least we Fae gain nourishment from your fear, your despair, your revulsion.” Deceit’s voice dropped. “What do humans gain from suffering, other than a sick sense of satisfaction? And you _condescend_ ,” his mouth twisted around the word, “you possess the utter _gall_ , to call us evil.”

Logan held up a hand. “Not that we don’t all appreciate a history lesson or philosophical debate—”

“Speak for yourself, teach,” Roman managed to mumble through his hand, earning a soft giggle from Patton. Logan stink-eyed them both.

“But do you have an actual point to make?” the half-faery finished.

Deceit tilted his head back and grumbled something in Faery about ‘mortals’ and ‘no appreciation for dramatic buildup’. It would have been funnier if he wasn’t still holding Rapunzel’s sanity hostage.

“Very well. Since you wish me to state my intentions plainly.” Deceit dipped his head so that his hat shadowed his eyes. “Today, my darling dolls and human vermin, we are rewriting the Accords.”

_Holy…what?_

Virgil froze where he stood, momentarily forgetting his goal to get to Kate. Meanwhile Logan’s eyes widened, as though some complex problem suddenly made sense to him.

“Free me from these chains, and I might _not_ tell you how,” Deceit offered, fixing Logan with hooded eyes. “I know you’re curious. I can practically see the cogs in that pathetic little brain whirling, trying to put it together.”

Logan’s mouth thinned. “Release my mother, Deceit.”

The faery said nothing.

“You have nothing to gain by keeping her thralled!” A hint of anger crept into Logan’s voice. “This defiance affords you no advantage. Rosa!” This he bellowed abruptly, turning. 

Across the room, the other Founder raised her head.

“Is there any evidence of external magic on Rapunzel? Pendants, coins, writing, blood, or the like?”

Rosa conferred with her wife, and the two searched Rapunzel’s prone body. 

“Nothing that we can find,” Rosa reported. 

Deceit still stared coldly at the ceiling, ignoring them all.

“No external magic means her thrall is held within your mind alone,” Logan said. “Which makes sense, given what we know of you and your desire to be in absolute control.”

Deceit only hummed softly, sending shivers down Virgil’s spine.

“But as such, Roman is correct: killing you would free her. We have dozens of sound reasons to end your life, and no particular incentive to keep you alive other than curiosity. Keeping her thralled is illogical.”

Deceit swayed in his chains, the ice grinding like chalkboard nails with each movement, cuttingly loud in the echo-y space. The Fae’s apathy about the whole situation set Virgil’s teeth on edge and made his skin crawl with worry.

Normally this would be Logan doing what he did best; eviscerating an opponent with ruthless, relentless logic. But this time he was up against an Unseelie faery, a fetch-dealer who exuded cunning from every scaled pore and spun lies with every flick of his forked tongue. 

“It’s no use, Logan,” Virgil warned, his voice wavering. “Roman’s right; he’s fucking with us. You’ll never get anything out of him.”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Very well” he said, gesturing. “Roman, kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mock orange:  
>  _deceit_


	41. Lobelia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceit is a dramatic bastard, and Roman learns something about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "End of Time" by Lacuna Coil

_you’ve built your life above the sin_  
_you hold my hand before the end comes_

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up. 

_I mean…damn._

Roman exhaled, his hand falling away from his face and his nostrils flaring. He didn’t smile, but there was a pleased set to his jaw as he lined up his blade.

“Logan…” Patton’s eyes were wide. 

“He has given us no other option,” Logan said firmly.

It touched Virgil’s heart that Patton couldn’t bear to watch a faery, even _this_ faery, be killed in front of him. And again, it ticked Virgil off that Deceit had been able to trick him into believing that lying, murderous ass was his soft hearted friend.

Patton inhaled, but Logan took his hand and gently kissed the knuckles.

(Which _didn’t_ hurt to watch.)

“Deceit,” Roman said. “If that is your real name—”

“It is,” the faery answered flippantly. He continued to hang from Logan’s chains, head still tilted up, almost deliberately baring his throat.

“Do you confess to dealing in fetches?”

A hush fell over the hall. It had been quiet before, but Virgil sensed that the rest of Smile were actively listening now. There was something ritualistic about Roman’s tone, as though he needed this in order to do as Logan asked.

Deceit looked pointedly around the room, at his horde of quietly waiting dolls, and looked back at Roman as if to say, “Duh.”

Roman’s jaw clenched. 

“Do you confess to compelling human thralls to make said fetches?”

Deceit rolled his head up and looked straight into Virgil’s eyes.

“Mmm,” the faery said with a sharp grin. “And they were so good at it.”

Tense silence.

Deceit held Virgil’s gaze for a long moment, as though waiting for him to break and confess. It took every ounce of courage Virgil possessed not to wither under that snake-eyed stare, but for once in his life…he held his chin high and managed it, though his hands trembled violently at his sides.

“Then, in accordance with the Accords,” Roman said, laying the edge of his blade across Deceit’s neck. “You must die for your crimes.”

Virgil gritted his teeth, flashing back to that night in Logan’s apartment; Roman whispering “ _smile_ ” into Logan’s ear as steel sliced into his neck…

Roman leaned in.

His mouth opened…

From the dais, Rapunzel let out a bloodcurdling scream. 

Kate and Rosa both staggered back with raised hands, as though to say “what the hell?” Logan’s mother, still lying between them, screamed again.

Deceit began to laugh.

Rapunzel screamed for a third time, longer and more hoarsely, ending in a whimper. Logan’s hands were in fists and his irises had gone blank white. 

“Wait!” he said in a strangled voice.

Rapunzel’s screams ceased the moment Roman pulled his sword back.

“Logan, how long would one such as I expect to survive, once Roman has severed my carotid arteries?” Deceit asked, infuriatingly nonchalant. 

Logan took a deep breath, obviously regaining control. 

“Anywhere from thirty seconds to a minute, depending on how thorough the killer is. Consciousness would be likely lost within half that time.”

Virgil shuddered. Even shaken, Logan was a literal trove of random…and gruesome…knowledge.

“Oh, I will be very fucking _thorough_ ,” Roman spat.

“And how long would it take an Unseelie Fae to drive a thralled human permanently insane?” Deceit asked, baring his fangs. “Fifteen seconds, perhaps?”

Logan grew very still, eyes blazing white. He swore softly. _In Faery_. Which Virgil had only rarely heard him use. 

Deceit laughed.

“ _Logan!_ ” Roman practically yelled, sword arm trembling.

“Oh, don’t bother, changeling; your half breed gets it,” Deceit crooned. “He knows I can turn his precious mother’s mind to mush in less than the time it would take for me to bleed out. He won’t risk that.”

Virgil’s hand trembled around his own knife. _He’ll kill her_ , he thought. _Or he’ll drive her mad, which is more or less the same…and there’s nothing we can do…_

“Well, then, I’ll just cut his whole lying head off,” Roman snarled, but the moment he raised his sword, Rapunzel screamed again. 

Patton whimpered and covered his ears; Virgil fought not to do the same.

“Unchain me, Logan,” Deceit commanded in a very different voice. He straightened in his chains, glaring. “End this farce. Or I will turn her into a drooling idiot _right here and now_.”

The screaming was getting to all of them. Rapunzel started to thrash on the dais, even with Kate and Rosa trying to hold her still. Logan’s hands were knuckle-pale fists at his sides. His face revealed no emotion away as the torture went on, but his eyes glowed brighter and brighter and the temperature continued to drop…

Rapunzel gave a shriek that made even Roman cringe, and Logan’s mouth twitched into a snarl. With another curse, he gestured, and Deceit’s chains evaporated into frost. 

The faery straightened up and made a show of rubbing his wrists.

But Logan’s mom continued to scream.

“Enough of this!” Logan said.

Virgil didn’t realize he’d raised his knife until Deceit quirked an amused eyebrow; teeth gritted, he backed down.

“Deceit!” Logan yelled, his composure cracking at last. 

And that, _that_ , was the last straw for Virgil.

“Take me back, if that’s what you really want!” he yelled, sheathing his knife and rushing forward. “Just leave her alone. Let the rest of them go!”

Deceit frowned and gestured; the screaming cut off instantly. He then sighed, rubbing gloved fingers over the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, _Virgil_. Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.” Deceit stalked forward and before Virgil could react, laid a gloved hand on his cheek. “Did you honestly think any of this was ever about _you_?”

_It’s…not?_

Deceit’s ever-present yellow snake, which draped indolently over his shoulders, hissed as the faery stroked his face.

“In fact, I should be thanking you right now,” Deceit went on. “You’ve been instrumental in leading me to people I actually need in order to get what I want.”

Virgil’s skin crawled but he didn’t dare move.

“About that, Deceit,” Logan stated, eyes narrowed. “Say the Accords could be rewritten by coercion, or whatever nonsense you have planned. You must know that you do not have the necessary resources to even attempt it.”

“Uh-oh, schooled by the Teach,” Roman sniggered. 

“Really?” Deceit purred, turning from Virgil and tilting his head down. “And why is that?”

“Well, first of all—” Logan started.

“Not you, teacher’s pet.” Deceit gestured, and Logan’s hand clapped over his mouth. The half-faery made a muffled, angry noise. 

“Since he finds this so amusing, I would like to hear from _him_.”

Deceit pointed at Roman, who rolled his eyes. 

“Fat chance, Fae. I’m just waiting for you to turn your back,” he said, twirling his sword again.

“Fine.” Deceit lifted a hand. “We’ll just listen to screaming instead.”

The threat hung in the air. 

Roman inhaled sharply. “Wait!”

Deceit cocked his head, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting. 

“Um, well…”

Roman’s half-panicked gaze swept the room. Logan merely shrugged, Patton gave him an encouraging smile, and Virgil…Roman’s dark eyes always lingered the longest on him, and for once, he tried to earn it.

Virgil gave Roman a subtle thumbs up and edged his way across the room again, toward the dais. The corner of Roman’s mouth twitched and he focused back on the faery.

“Well, first of all, the Accords aren’t even here,” Roman stated, straightening up. The dramatic changeling did live for the spotlight, even in a situation such as this. “And I seriously doubt anybody actually has them memorized.”

Roman side-eyed Logan; however, the half-faery shook his head.

“So unless you’re planning to just, like, start over?” Roman went on, his voice growing louder with confidence. “Which seems like a lot of unnecessary work, you know? Plus, it’s not like writing something new would magically invalidate the one that already exists.”

“Mmm. Funny you should use that word.” Deceit smiled.

Roman narrowed his eyes. “…exists?”

“Magic!” Deceit threw his hands up and muttered a few words in Faery. He visibly collected himself.

“Perhaps expecting a mere changeling to puzzle this out is too much to ask, but the Accords is, in fact, a magical document,” he said, shimmying his hands, “and as such, it can be magically altered.”

Roman pulled an offended face. 

Logan mumbled something and frowned down at his own hand, as though he’d genuinely forgotten he’d been silenced. Deceit rolled his eyes and gestured, freeing him.

“Go ahead, Logan,” he said in a faux sweet voice.

“The faery is correct.” Logan straightened his glasses. “In order to be truly binding, the Accords were signed in blood, with magic, and as such they can be affected without the physical document being present.” 

Silence. Virgil stared at him. _Was he_ helping _Deceit?_

“However!” Logan held up a finger, and aimed it at the faery. “As a safeguard, the Accords can only be changed by the ones who crafted the original. You would need three key persons to facilitate a rewrite. The Autumn King, one of the two Grimm Founders who signed, and Johnny Prince of Smile.”

“I can only assume this grandiose plot is why you kidnapped Rapunzel,” Logan added. “But even so, you are missing two of your three.”

“Two?” Deceit tsked, wagging a finger. “Oh, honey, you were doing so well.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, but then his eyes widened infinitesimally. 

“Oh, I see. You killed _that_ Autumn King,” he murmured.

Deceit pulled a roll of parchment from somewhere under his cape and waved it mockingly, grinning. Eyes widened all over the room. 

_That must be the Faery copy of the Accords._

_Which means the King that Deceit murdered was the one who signed all those years ago_ , Virgil realized. _That’s why he killed off the whole Court as well, so he’d be the direct and only successor._

He felt sick.

_All that killing…just to change one document._

Nothing Deceit did was arbitrary. Nothing he did was merely for show, or revenge.

Despair settled in Virgil’s bones. 

He was beginning to doubt he’d ever been Deceit’s actual target at all, even all the way back in Ohio. At best, he’d been an amusing side quest; a convenient pawn to move around on the game board.

And so long as he had Rapunzel under his control, how were they going to _stop_ him? 

“I did wonder why you kept to this area for so long,” Logan added, his smile sharp but brittle. “And here I thought that was just to get my attention.”

Deceit chuckled and twirled, making his cape flare around his shoulders. He appeared to be in no rush to end the impasse. 

“I mean, I obviously _didn’t_ succeed in that, but no,” Deceit added. “You _aren’t_ actually a third of who I need.” 

“Me?” Logan echoed. “No, it’s…Rapunzel you needed, or Rumplestiltzkin; one of the original signers. That’s why you took her; that’s why you will eventually need her in order to accomplish your stated goal. Which is why I cannot understand what you hope to gain by keeping her thralled and prolonging this…conversation.”

Deceit’s smile grew positively feral.

“Oh, was that your plan?” he hissed, stalking close. “Stall me until I needed your poor mother awake, and then make your move?”

Logan’s jaw tightened.

“I admit she was my first target. I wanted her and her copy of the Accords…which it turns out, she no longer had,” Deceit said lowly, glaring. 

Logan’s face betrayed nothing. 

So Deceit had _definitely_ broken into their apartment all those months ago, then; or sent someone to do it. It hardly mattered now.

The faery straightened to address the room again.

“Making it so that only the original signers could alter the Accords is a clever safeguard.” He tapped the Fae copy against his hand. “And who knows? Maybe it _wouldn’t_ have even worked.” His voice dropped to a purr. “Except for one _minor_ little detail. They used blood magic. A magic which we Unseelie created.”

He unwrapped the snake from around his shoulders. The creature hissed and lengthened into a solid crook, which he thumped hollowly on the floor. 

“Nobody knows blood magic like an Unseelie, and nobody uses it to thwart an Unseelie. Observe.”

The fetches, which up until that point had been idly standing about, attacked in silent, eerie unison. They fell upon the roomful of Smile hunters, heedless of danger, tackling and swarming until they had every hunter disarmed and pinned…except for Kate, and Rosa. 

And, strangely, Roman. 

They also ignored Virgil, who’d almost crossed the distance between Deceit’s little impasse and the dais where Rapunzel still lay.

“Forgive my confusion, Deceit,” Logan said, drawing the faery’s eyes once again. “But how is this show of strength from borrowed fetches at all applicable to your stated desire to nullify the Accords?”

Deceit sighed.

“Logan, do please try and keep up. These particular fetches were created by thralls under my dominion, making them of my bloodline. Thus, I control them. Unseelie blood magic.”

When nobody reacted to this, Deceit sighed again, extra dramatically in Virgil’s opinion, and rubbed his scaled temple.

“Killing the Autumn King makes me the new Autumn King, and thus successor to his bloodline. _I_ am one of the three.”

Logan’s eyes lit with understanding. 

“Bloodlines, of course. And Rapunzel and I make perfect leverage for each other, because either of us—”

“Could rewrite the Accords, yes, now are you starting to understand?” Deceit impatiently waved a hand.

“You know, this is all very clever and well thought out and all,” Roman interrupted, raising a hand (and conveniently placing his body between Virgil and Deceit’s direct line of sight). “But aren’t you’re still missing someone? Because I’m pretty sure we’d have noticed if Johnny Fucking Prince had decided to come along on this little adventure.”

A few hunters chuckled, even captured as they were. 

Virgil, meanwhile, _finally_ made it up the dais. A tranced Rosa lay curled next to Rapunzel, one hand on her shoulder, eyes shut and breathing deep. Virgil had learned about Rosa’s magic, knew that her biggest weakness was that in order to use her forced sleep abilities, she had to be asleep herself. He breathed a little easier, knowing Logan’s mother was, for the moment, as safe as she could possibly be. 

If anyone besides Deceit had a shot at waking her, it was Sleeping Beauty.

Kate stood guard over her wife, swords in hand and eyes roving the room.

“Rosa thought she sensed the thrall weakening,” Kate informed Virgil quietly as he approached. “She’s trying to break though. Once she does, we remove his main leverage. As for the fetches—”

“They aren’t completely under his control,” Virgil interrupted. “Deceit’s trying to distract us from the fact that he’s at the limit of his power. I think ordering the fetches to attack just now is what weakened Rapunzel’s thrall. Patton’s also been pushing his peacemaking mojo around, although I don’t know how much good it’s doing.”

The ginger changeling still stood at Logan’s elbow, eyes slightly unfocused behind his glasses. With any luck ( _come on, Roman_ ), Deceit would keep overlooking him.

They were interrupted by a shrill laugh from the faery.

“Interesting that you, Roman, in particular, should bring up Johnny Prince.” 

Next to Virgil, Kate stiffened.

Deceit tapped his lips. “Honestly, did you really think I arranged this entire meeting and oops, simply forgot someone?”

“Do _you_ seriously think bringing in a bunch of fetches and yammering on about blood magic will keep Smile from stopping you?” Roman countered, inching forward. “Keep talking, faery. We can wait. Eventually you’ll run out of clever words.”

“Oh, Roman, Roman, Roman. Sweet Roman.” Deceit’s grin turned sharp and feral. “You have no idea who you are, do you?”

“No, no, _no_ ,” Kate muttered, her eyes growing wide. “How the _fuck_ could that bastard have found out?”

“Found out…what?” Virgil stared. Her expression raised all the hairs on his neck.

Uncertainty flickered across Roman’s face before settling back into a snarl. 

“I see what you’re doing, you’re trying to trick me into revealing something to use against us, but it won’t work!” he spat. “Unfortunately for you, I’m nobody. Just another changeling who was fetched and taken and then escaped from some other faery bastard just like you!”

“Are you?” Deceit raised his voice. “Is he, Hunter Gardener?”

Roman’s gaze fell on Kate as well and Virgil felt her cringe. 

His own blood ran cold; Deceit clearly knew a secret, a bad one, something Kate knew and Roman did not. There was no way this would end well.

“At one time, you were quite close to Smile’s double-dealing, bloodthirsty founder, weren’t you?” Deceit called out to Kate. 

(He paid no mind to Virgil’s presence on the dais, which was a momentary relief.)

“I was,” Kate answered, looking only at Roman.

“And as such, you knew of his on again, off again lover? Remind me, what was her name?”

Kate’s lips compressed. “Vanessa Reis,” she admitted quietly.

Roman made a small, shocked noise, as did several other Smile hunters around the room.

Virgil sucked in a sharp breath, putting it together. 

Deceit merely shook his head. 

“You aren’t even going to _try_ and soften the truth for him?” he crooned. “Oh, sweetie. I’m disappointed.”

“Kate…” Roman said in a quiet, broken voice. “Are you saying…”

He straightened up.

“Are you telling me that Johnny Prince... _the founder of Smile_ …is my _father_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lobelia:  
>  _malevolence_


	42. Oleander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when the author introduces another character three chapters from the end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "What I've Done" by Linkin Park

_i’ve drawn regret_  
_from the truth of a thousand lies_

A stunned silence fell over the crowd of Smile. 

Deceit smirked, and sniggered, and twirled his staff, utterly confident in his control of the situation. Virgil wanted to punch him. 

This was almost worse than using Rapunzel to manipulate Logan. 

A revelation like this would throw everything Roman thought he knew about himself into question; and as a fear feeder, Deceit would grow more powerful off the blowback.

“And you…you _knew_?” Roman added, taking a step towards Kate.

“Not right away!” she cried, raising a hand and dropping it again. “After Johnny abandoned Smile and fucked off to gods know where, after I took over…we kept tabs on Vanessa for her own safety. We knew she had a son, but nobody knew he’d been…that _you’d_ been…taken.” 

Her face contorted. “And then _there you were_ , in that Grimm safehouse all those years later, and you looked _just like_ Johnny did at that that age. And we’d always gotten reports of Vanessa’s son getting into weird, violent trouble, which never sat right with me…”

Roman stared like she’d slapped him; Kate, on the other hand, looked utterly heartbroken.

“That’s why you singled me out for Smile.” Roman rubbed his face. “That’s how you knew exactly how to find my mother. And that… _thing_ , that replaced me.”

Someone in the hall made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

Kate nodded, looking around the room. Her hunters were watching with wide eyes now, gazes flickering between her and Roman. 

Virgil exhaled, slowly. 

_Roman is Johnny Prince’s son._

_Holy Arcadian gods, Kate…that is one_ hell _of a secret to sit on. You should have told him…at the very least to prevent it being used against him like this!_

“I wasn’t completely sure until you came back and told me about the fetch,” Kate said quietly. “If I hadn’t happened across you…we would have never known. You’d have been just another changeling. I always thought it had to be fate, or pure dumb—”

“ _Luck_ ,” Roman finished in a hushed voice, his eyes wide. 

Virgil felt a chill run down his spine. 

Had Roman’s _own magic_ brought him and Kate together? Just how far-reaching was Roman’s luck? 

“Yes, thank you, Johnny’s Prince’s son, everyone.” Deceit gave Roman a mocking round of clapping. “Can everyone focus back on me, please? Thank you. Now.”

The faery thumped his snake staff on the floor again. 

Two fetches rushed out of the room and reappeared carrying a podium, of all things, which they placed in front of Deceit. The faery leaned onto it, looking for all the world like a prosecutor in a courtroom, supremely confident in his case. 

Virgil noticed some of the other fetches touching and shaking their heads as this happened, and he exchanged a significant look with Kate. The more Deceit pushed individuals to carry out specific orders, the less control he kept over the group.

They had to use that.

They needed to _wake Rapunzel._

“Now that we have our three key persons, as Logan put it, perhaps he and Roman would like to approach the podium,” the faery ordered, snapping his copy of the Accords open and laying it in front of him.

Virgil’s heart raced. 

_If he makes them sign it, fetch-making will be ‘legal’ again. Faeries like Deceit will have free reign. Smile might even have to let him go. I’ll never be free of him!_

_I can’t…I can’t let him do that!_

“Why are you doing this?” he shouted…and regretted it the moment Deceit turned his head. 

_Shit._

“Something you’d like to say, changeling?” the faery said mildly, leaning forward. 

_Why did I have to go and draw his attention up here?_ Swallowing, Virgil drew himself up.

“You heard me, snake face,” he said, only just keeping his voice from wavering. “If you hate the Accords so much, why go to all the trouble to change them? Why not just do your blood magic mojo and burn the copy in your hands?” 

Well. He dearly hoped Deceit didn’t decide to do just that.

“What’s the _point_ of this whole charade?” he added, spreading his hands.

Deceit looked amongst all of them, cupping his head in one gloved hand.

“And destroy such a thorough, fair, and thought-out document?” he said. “Why on Arcadia would I want to do that?”

_What?_

“But…” Virgil started. 

“Did you assume I hated the Accords? I don’t. They are a necessary piece of diplomacy between humanity and Fae, for the betterment of both,” Deceit went on. “They acknowledge and curb the worst tendencies in both our peoples; and yes, I will admit, there are those of my kind who cannot be allowed to run rampant amongst humankind.” 

He wasn’t lying. 

But as his revelation with Roman proved, the only thing more dangerous than a lie was a well-wielded truth.

“No, I stated my intention plainly.” Deceit produced a pen from under his cape and laid it on the podium. “I have no wish to destroy the Accords. I have merely eliminated one particular passage.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “Fetches.”

Deceit smiled, fangs peeking out. “Fetches.”

“If you understand the Accords as well as you claim,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. “Then you must understand why the fetch prohibition exists.”

“They are a kindness, Logan!” Deceit snapped, slapping the podium with a sharp crack. “That is what you sentimental humans seem incapable of understanding. Do you know the difference between Seelie and Unseelie?”

Logan opened his mouth, but hesitated. Deceit rolled his eyes.

“That _was_ a rhetorical question and I _don’t_ want you to answer it.”

“I got this, Logan,” Roman cut in, his eyes narrowing. “Court Fae need emotional energy the way humans need sunshine, right? That’s what differentiates them from solitaries. And they have to get it from us because apparently, other Fae don’t generate enough to be ‘satisfying’.” Roman made air quotes with his fingers. “Like, they can live without it, but they get sickly and their magic acts up.”

Unsurprisingly, Roman didn’t sound too heartbroken at the idea of weak, sickly faeries.

“So, basically the Seelie feed on good emotion: love, euphoria, inspiration and whatever,” he went on, warming up to the subject, “while Unseelie feed on bad stuff like anger, fear, grief—”

“Actually, grief is a Seelie taste,” Logan cut in. “And both Seelie and Unseelie have a liking for euphoria. The separation between the two is more a matter of refinement than morality.”

Roman blinked at him. “Wait, really?”

“Also, the concepts of good and bad are arguably meaningless, because we can assign any preferred characteristics to either—”

Virgil loudly cleared his throat and shot Logan a _look_. “Not a good time, L.”

“Anyway, so Seelie Fae are generally the ones who steal painters, poets, and the like,” Roman said. “To tempt a Seelie, you have to be beautiful, passionate, and talented.”

“Imagine not even having to deliver your own monologues,” Deceit murmured, chin propped on his hand again.

“Which means Seelie often wait until a child enters their teens before taking them, if they ever do,” Logan added. “Such kidnappings do not make use of fetches, because older fetches are nearly impossible to construct to the level it would require to ‘pass’ in human society.”

Virgil hid a shudder.

“And therefore,” Deceit prompted, “which fae alignment is unfairly disadvantaged by a prohibition on fetching? Seelie, or Unseelie?”

Logan frowned. “Unseelie, I suppose. Because they prefer young victims and rely on fetches to procure them without undue human attention.”

Deceit scoffed. “Victim is such a human concept, Logan. I would expect you, at least, to understand.” He leaned forward. “When a lion kills and eats a gazelle, was that poor, innocent gazelle a ‘victim’ of the big bad lion? Is the lion wrong for doing what it must to satisfy its needs?”

Logan’s gray eyes were troubled behind his glasses.

“That’s completely different!” Roman protested.

“Is it?” Deceit glared. “Why do you suppose we take you when you’re young?”

“Because you’re evil, Jack the Fibber.” Roman shrugged, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wrong! Because like that gazelle, no human would willingly provide what we need to survive,” Deceit snapped. “By relocating you as infants, our world becomes the only world you know and you have a much, _much_ better chance of survival. Fetches are a necessary component of this process, otherwise we have adult humans blundering into Arcadia looking for their missing progeny and inevitably _dying_ in the process.” 

Virgil shuddered, pulling his hoodie around himself as though he could block out the awful memories. Only Deceit could make sixteen years’ worth of trauma sound like a reasonable solution to anything. 

“Trollshit!” Roman snarled. “You take us young so you can beat and scare the rebellion out of us, and you replace us to make sure that even when we _do_ escape, we have nowhere to go!”

“Regardless of the reasoning behind it,” Logan cut in, holding up a hand. “You cannot deny that fetch-making is an inherently cruel practice. It destroys the minds of the changelings forced to create them…”

Virgil exhaled carefully, closing his eyes. 

_Breathe._

_They don’t know._

_They don’t know._

“…tricking human families, and arguably it’s cruel to the fetches themselves, if and when they discover they are not truly human at all,” Logan finished.

 _As though this room isn’t full of listening fetches right now, Logan_ , Virgil thought, frowning.

“Sometimes what is necessary can be unpleasant,” Deceit said, waving a hand. “That’s life. Without the freedom to replace the humans we take, we Unseelie cannot acquire enough to meet our needs. The Arcadian Courts are suffering, Logan, and it is generating unrest. Some of them would _hate_ to see the Accords burn.”

Deceit smirked, chin propped on his hand and elbow propped on the podium. From his vantage point, Virgil saw only his snake side: split jaw; yellow eye; scales; red, hollow eye socket. 

“All I want is to amend one teeny, tiny section,” the faery went on. “And leave the rest intact. Compared to what my brethren would do, is that such an unreasonable request?”

Silence.

“Personally, I would rather die,” Roman said lowly, “than help a snake like you.”

Deceit sighed loudly and raised a hand. 

Virgil gasped and dove for Rosa, snatching her hand away from Rapunzel’s shoulder. Just in time, as Rapunzel screamed again, her back arching off the ground. It was far worse up close; Virgil clapped hands over his ears.

“Enough!” Logan yelled, stepping forward. “Fine. Just…stop.”

The pain in his voice twisted Virgil’s heart. 

“Come on, then,” Deceit said silkily, waving the pen. 

Virgil fumed as Logan stalked over and took it, but…what choice did he have? 

He startled when Kate lay a hand on his shoulder. She took her wife’s hand and laid it back on Rapunzel’s shaking form.

“Breathe, Virgil. Rosa almost had her,” Kate murmured. “And even if Logan breaks, Roman will never cooperate with a faery. We just need a little more time.”

Virgil nodded shakily, and went to stand in front of them both.

 _If Rosa can wake her…she’s_ got _to wake her. Logan can be a cold-hearted bastard, but he won’t sacrifice his mom, not even to save the Accords._

“Roman?” Deceit called in a sing-song voice as Logan bent over the podium.

Roman laughed, and then spit in the faery’s direction. 

“Not even to save a life?” Deceit cocked his head.

One of the fetches lurched toward Roman from behind, raising a… _is that a mace?_

Virgil opened his mouth to yell but too slowly. The fetch swung, knocking Roman to the ground, where he lay unmoving. His sword went skittering across the floor. The attack had happened so fast that for a long moment, nobody moved. Even Deceit looked uncharacteristically startled. 

Patton shrieked.

“You killed him!”

The fetch pulled off his mask, and he…was Roman. Same height, same brown skin, same _face_ , down to regal nose and dimple in the left cheek. The doppelgänger planted his weapon on his shoulder… _how the fuck did nobody notice that thing right away_ …and struck a pose, flashing a prominent gold tooth.

“Boo.”

The whiny, high-pitched voice was thankfully nothing like Roman’s. 

“Remus, for the hundredth time,” Deceit said, rubbing his scaled temple. “I said you could have him when I am _finished_. Do I look finished to you?”

“Oh, but I just love showing up where I’m not wanted,” the fetch said, lips curling in a grin.

Looking closer, Virgil saw other differences. Silver streak in the hair. Caked purple eyeshadow around the eyes, giving him a skull-like appearance. A shredded black and green jacket that looked like several dogs had chewed on it, something Roman would never be caught dead in. 

And worst of all, the scraggly mustache parked on his sneering upper lip. 

This was Roman’s fetch.

And it had just killed him while everyone watched. While Virgil watched, unable to stop it, unable to do anything. All the helplessness inside boiled over and he saw red. He drew both knives and rushed the fetch. 

The next few moments were a confused blur. 

The fetch…had Deceit called it ‘Remus’?…was damnably flexible, dodging Virgil’s slashes with ease, giggling madly the whole time. He didn’t even move the mace off his shoulder. Virgil knew he was being played with but he couldn’t stop; all he could see was Roman lying facedown on the floor, _dead_ …

“He’s alive!” 

Patton’s voice cut through Virgil’s haze. He jerked his gaze to where Patton knelt at Roman’s side, and gasped in relief when he saw the fallen changeling groan and clutch his head. 

The distraction proved to be a mistake.

Remus deftly knocked both knives from Virgil’s hands and kneed his midsection, leaving him bent over and gasping for breath. The fetch then seized Virgil from behind, wrapping an arm around his neck and partially cutting off his air. 

“You know you don’t actually need my brother conscious to do your chicken scratch, right?” Remus called to Deceit, idly swinging Virgil back and forth. 

Virgil fought to regain his feet, to use any of the self defense techniques Roman had taught him, but Remus kept _moving_ and he couldn’t _breathe_ …

Deceit tapped his lips. “You know what, you may be right.” 

He tapped his staff, and several fetches surrounded Patton and Roman. 

Logan jumped to defend them, but there were too many; he and Patton were quickly subdued and dragged away from Roman. More fetches came forward, seizing Roman under his armpits and dragging him toward Deceit’s podium…

“Hey!” Kate yelled from the dais. She and Rosa stood, holding a woozy Rapunzel between them.

She was awake.

Rapunzel was _awake_.

And for one precious moment, Deceit hesitated. 

Rosa leaped onto Kate’s back, her head slumping almost immediately, and Virgil felt a concussive wave of magic rip through the room. Every fetch dropped instantly into sleep, crumpling where they stood…except the one who held Virgil hostage. He growled in frustration as his pendant grew cold; because of their positioning, Logan’s magic had blocked Rosa’s!

“Smile,” Kate called in her commanding voice, which dropped to something low and full of hatred. “ _Kill that faery._ ”

Deceit snarled and extended his knife-nails, ripping through his gloves. He dodged an ice blast from Logan, who was the first to spring into action. Unfortunately there were enough bodies on the ground that their mere presence prevented the rest of the hunters from simply descending en masse upon the faery.

Ice crunched across the ground, encasing the podium and only barely missing Deceit again, who rolled aside. He grinned, tapped his staff, and melted… _no_ , Virgil saw too late, faery and staff both turned into snakes.

_No, NO, that’s how the bastard got away last time!_

“Get them!” Logan yelled, pointing as the yellow reptiles serpentined across the floor in opposite directions. It was impossible to tell which was which. Smile fired crossbows, chased with swords and knives, but no one could seem to get a lucky shot. 

Logan froze swaths of floor in hopes of slowing the snakes down, but when people slipped on them instead, it only added to the chaos.

Virgil’s captor merely watched, occasionally bouncing up and down and calling out obscene encouragements…until Roman came barreling at them both. The fetch shoved Virgil to the ground and met Roman’s sword with his mace in one fluid motion. 

The two went back and forth as Virgil staggered, coughing, to his feet, unable to do more than catch his breath for a few precious seconds. The sounds of metal against metal, ice against stone spurred him to at least collect his knives.

“There!” Patton shouted, pointing towards the door as one of the snakes slipped underneath.

“Get it,” Kate ordered as she staggered under Rosa’s and Rapunzel’s combined weight. 

The bulk of Smile sprinted after, leaving the throne room door swinging on its hinges. 

Logan rushed forward and pulled his mother into a tight hug, allowing Kate to untangle herself and straighten up. Rapunzel was awake, but she was clearly still out of sorts and very weak. 

“We should split up again,” Kate said, rebalancing her still-sleeping wife on her back. “First we need to get Rapunzel out of here. Roman—!”

But Roman and Remus were still fighting, using Deceit’s abandoned podium as cover, both oblivious to anything else around them.

“I’ll go help him,” Virgil offered, but Kate shook her head.

“No. He can sort the last fetch.”

She had a point. Virgil’s clumsy presence would likely only be a hinderance to Roman. That demented fetch unsettled the shit out of him, anyway.

“We need to find the other snake,” Logan said.

“I can take Rapunzel,” Patton offered, slipping an arm around Rapunzel’s waist. “I don’t run fast enough to be much use in snake-catching.”

“Oh, isn’t that a ssshame,” Deceit hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oleander:  
>  _caution, mistrust_
> 
> Author's note:
> 
> Hey all, just letting you know that in the next day or so, I plan to comb through this fic and make one minor change. I was never completely satisfied with calling people in Smile "agents"; it was a placeholder word, a little too stuffy and proper for how they see themselves. I've decided to change it to "hunters". So, if you read this again and think, "hang on a second I swear they were 'agents' before"...they were; you aren't imagining it. I just like "hunter" better.
> 
> The next chapter is going to be lots of fun...and you're going to have to trust that I didn't use certain archive tags _for a reason._


	43. Hemlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song:  
> "The Monarch" by Delain

_i looked at the stripes_  
_the monarch flies_  
_i halt my cries_  
_if my friend, if you can change_  
_perhaps then so can i_

Deceit raised a hand, cape flaring behind him, snake eye flashing yellow. 

Virgil cried out as his body collapsed, like all his bones had simultaneously forgotten how to be a skeleton; one by one the others met the same fate. Free from his need to keep Rapunzel and a roomful of fetches under control, Deceit had the full brunt of his powers at his command again. 

_And Kate just sent the rest of Smile after the other snake!_

Technically it was still seven against one, but two of those seven were preoccupied or barely conscious, and Deceit had managed to get the jump on the rest.

Virgil fought the thrall, chest burning, but his limbs simply refused to move.

“Now,” the faery crooned, curling his forked tongue around one of his fangs. He licked the tip of one of his long, bladed nails as he approached. “I think this defiance has gone quite far enough. Let’s see.”

He paused next to a collapsed Rosa, still out cold, and Kate, who watched with wide, helpless eyes. The faery bent and nicked Rosa’s face under each eye, drawing a small drop of blood with each cut. 

“I need this one awake, so we can keep those pesky changeling powers under control.”

Rosa came to with a gasp. She tried to close her eyes several times, face contorting as they kept flaring back open. 

Deceit moved on to Kate, who glared.

“This one, we can let sleep,” he crooned, scratching her forehead.

Then to Patton. “Same with you.”

To Virgil’s horror, both their eyes fluttered shut as he pricked their skin. _He’s using some ungodly combination of venom and blood magic._

Rapunzel he ignored, apparently deciding she was too weak to cause him any trouble. Virgil braced himself, knowing he was next.

“Roman!” Logan’s voice shouted, sounding unnaturally strained. “Roman, leave the fetch and _run_!”

Deceit whirled with a snarl. 

Logan had thrown the thrall enough to climb to his knees, and then to his feet. His eyes burned white and he cupped his hand, crystalline frost creeping over his fingers…

“Oh, no you don’t, half blood!” Deceit made a grabbing motion and a sickly yellow light swirled around Logan’s body, shattering the ice and rendering him immobile. Logan growled, splaying his hands, clearly fighting with everything in him.

_Come on, Logan_ , Virgil prayed. In one last stroke of luck, perhaps, Logan had distracted Deceit before he could poison Virgil into unconsciousness…and Virgil had fallen facing the podium, so he could see everything that was happening.

_But what good will that do me if I can’t break free?_

Deceit tightened his fist and Logan’s legs moved, stiffly walking the half-faery to the fallen podium.

“Remus!” The faery called as he followed, flicking his other hand. “Enough play time; I need to borrow your toy.”

Roman’s and Remus’ battle had carried them to the far side of the room. Nevertheless, Remus reacted immediately, blocking one last blow and sending Roman stumbling. Roman recovered, lifting his sword, but then Deceit’s sickly light encased his head and his limbs went slack. 

Virgil swore under his breath.

Deceit walked him like a marionette to the podium, Remus trailing behind and giggling. 

_I can’t let him do this. I can’t let him win._ Virgil had no doubt that once Deceit had secured his altered Accords, he would kill them all while they lay helpless.

He fought. 

He fought until every nerve screamed in protest, until he’d be screaming if he had any control over his vocal cords. _I am not afraid I am not afraid…!_ He fought until the tears he couldn’t blink away made his eyes burn. 

His power flared hot and sluggish in his chest; the flagstones under his fingers cracked and twisted with tiny, weak vines. 

_Useless_.

This was just like outside the Athens Theater, when Roman fought for his life while Virgil lay helpless. 

A cool, dark hand slipped over his shaking forearm, momentarily stilling him. 

Rapunzel’s face popped into view in the corner of his eye; he couldn’t turn his head, but he could feel her warmth, hovering over him. 

“Unseelie are as arrogant as they are cruel. He should not have skipped me,” she whispered.

His heart missed a beat.

“I believe I can draw out the faery’s poison from the others, but I am weak and it will take time. If I help them, I cannot help my son, or your Roman, and I cannot save the Accords,” Rapunzel went on. 

“You _must_ save them.” 

_I can’t even free myself. Help me!_ Virgil wanted to say, but all that came out was a whimper.

Logan and Roman, moving like stiff, tandem puppets, managed to right the podium and collect all the loose sheets of paper. Deceit took the Accords and stacked them.

“It is taking all the faery’s strength to hold my son." Rapunzel’s voice was a lighter version of Logan’s: mahogany and teakwood but brighter, greener. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Your Fae is not a fear feeder.”

Virgil stilled, his heart beating fast. 

_But…of course he is. That’s where his power comes from: fear. I spent sixteen years under his thumb; I would know!_

Deceit had yanked Roman forward, pressing a pen into his hand, forcing him to bend over the podium. 

“If you know my Logan,” Rapunzel said, her voice growing more urgent. “Then you know he is fearless. What, then, is the faery using to thrall him? Snakes hide in the grass; people, behind their lies.”

_Lies._

The mind games, the gaslighting, the constant tearing down of Virgil’s self esteem while he’d been under Deceit’s control.

_Deceit doesn’t draw his power from fear._

_He draws it from lies._

Rapunzel pressed a hand against his heart.

“Truth is a flower.”

Deceit had finished with Roman and flicked his hand, causing the changeling to shuffle away. He crooked a finger. 

Logan’s turn. 

_Truth is a flower._

Rapunzel was right. Logan wasn’t afraid; had _never_ been afraid. He fought, even now, unable to break free but Deceit couldn’t force him any closer. The faery was focused entirely on Logan, fangs bared.

Logan was breathtaking, all white eyes and blue veins and crackly, shimmery frost. 

Being fearless had never worked; it was a lie. 

Virgil needed a truth.

_My name is Virgil Storm_ , he thought furiously. _I am twenty years old. I escaped from Arcadia when I was 17._

Nothing. Maybe the truth had to be bigger.

_I am…_ a shudder passed through his body. _I was a fetch-maker._

A tear shook loose to run down his cheek, but his limbs stayed frozen.

There was only one truth in Virgil’s heart that felt strong enough; a tearing, stabbing truth. He focused on Logan’s pendant, still burning cold against his chest.

_I am in love with Logan Ursae, and he does not love me back._

Yellow sparked through his vision and abruptly he was free. Shivering, he rolled to a crouch and eyed the scene. 

Remus, for some godforsaken reason, had pulled out a sharpie and was busily drawing dicks on Roman’s unresisting face. Weird, gross…but at least the demented fetch was occupied with something besides trying to kill him. The hall was otherwise empty; the other fetches must have fled when Rosa was forced awake.

Deceit had managed to capture Logan’s wrist.

There was no time. 

If he rushed the faery he’d probably get skewered on those knife nails before he could even get close. _There was no time_ …unless Virgil could incapacitate him from a distance. The truth he’d spoken in his mind still simmered in his fingertips; maybe Arcadia’s magic-saturated atmosphere would amp his powers. 

He pressed his hands against the cold stone floor. 

Deceit had always tried to make him believe his power was weak, fragile, good for nothing except for the cursed use to which the faery put it. 

_Maybe that was a lie, too._

Warmth flared and spiraled down his arms, through his palms, deep into the Arcadian soil beneath the castle. 

Yards away, vines burst from stone to encircle Deceit’s arms. 

Virgil didn’t wait to see if they’d hold; he charged, knives drawn. 

Deceit freed an arm as Virgil closed in; steel met fae-sharpened bone as the faery slashed at his face. Virgil turned the blow away, going in with bared teeth and his second knife. 

Slash-slash-slash and Virgil was forced to skitter backwards. He pulled with his magic again and more vines rose to entangle the faery’s limbs.

“Virgil, pet, enough of this nonsense.” Deceit’s voice was soft and low, even as he slashed his way free. “And here I thought you were _smart_.”

Virgil knife-blocked another vicious stab, adrenaline making him shaky. This was like using a hedge to capture a hedge trimmer; no matter how many vines Virgil dragged from the stones, Deceit had at least an arm free within seconds. He advanced, and Virgil had to keep giving ground. 

Alone, his pathetic efforts would never be enough. 

Deceit sighed as a tangled, thorny mass slid up his legs.

“Yes, _do_ keep annoying me, Virgil,” he warned, slicing at the greenery. “It’s _not_ like I need you alive or anything.”

Virgil used the moment’s reprieve to catch Logan’s unresisting arm. His clammy skin was ice cold under Virgil’s heated grip.

“Logan,” he hissed. “Logan, can you hear me?”

The half-faery stood unnaturally straight, fists clenched, head staring stiffly forward. But his eyes flickered to Virgil; he had that much control, still, at least! 

“Oh, you really think you’re going to snap him out of it.” Deceit laughed. “I swear, you _humans_.”

Virgil risked a look; the faery had cut one leg free and was steadily working on the other. 

“His power comes from lies, Logan, not fear.” Virgil moved to face the faery again, speaking softly. “You need a truth to free yourself, but it has to be—”

He choked as the faery shot toward him, narrowly missing with a claw. Virgil dodged, retaliating with both knives and vines. He couldn’t keep this up; already he felt his power turning inward, crawling through his chest, seizing his lungs. 

A burning cough tickled his throat.

Deceit abruptly retracted the claws on one hand, slipped past Virgil’s defensive stance, and punched him in the stomach. Virgil, already bruised from Remus’ earlier attack, was sent flying across the floor. 

He heard the faery’s footsteps and sent a blind wave of vines, which Deceit easily avoided. Pain cramped Virgil’s insides and he doubled over, retching feathery white petals. He _felt_ the thorns growing denser with every breath, a thousand sharp edges trying to split him open. 

A shadow spilled over his face. 

Deceit stood over him, disgust in the lines of his mouth, scales catching the light from the windows. The faery didn’t even look winded by their fight, and Virgil couldn’t move.

_I’m sorry Rapunzel_ , he thought, tears stinging his eyes. _I tried, but…he was right; I am useless._ He couldn’t even find the strength to look over and see if she’d managed to free the others and get them out; he just had to hope.

A whimper escaped his lips as the faery dragged him roughly to his feet. Virgil gritted his teeth. Deceit pulled him close, raising a claw…but then he lowered it again.

“Such a waste. You’ve grown strong, Virgil.” 

“Fuck you,” Virgil forced out.

“I must say, I’m impressed.” A nasty grin twisted Deceit’s face. “You know, I was going let your precious half blood bleed out.” His forked tongue flickered against the shell of Virgil’s ear as he spoke. “But now I think I’ll let you save him.” 

Deceit adjusted his grip on Virgil’s hoodie, trapping his arms, and frogmarched him towards the podium. Virgil’s breath rasped frantically in his lungs. 

_What is he going to do?_ The spiraling panic stole what little fight he had left in him.

The faery deposited him at the base of the podium. His heart sank further when he saw that Logan still hadn’t managed to free himself and he wondered, for a split second, what lie Deceit could possibly be using to keep him thralled.

_Deceit will pour every bit of his magic into keeping Logan under control, now, since he doesn’t need…_

_Roman._

The other changeling stood, obediently and unnaturally still, near the podium. 

Virgil’s stomach plummeted when he saw Remus now had Roman’s sword in hand and was methodically poking tiny holes in his clothes. From the numerous cuts that covered Roman’s arms, and the pain glittering in his frozen eyes, the fetch wasn’t being careful about it. 

“You see, Virgil,” Deceit crooned. “I don’t actually need your half-breed’s cooperation. I only really need his hands.”

The faery seized Logan’s wrists and dragged him to the podium. He frowned at his claws, ran one against the wood edge with a horrible scraping sound, frowned again. “No…I need something edged.”

Virgil nearly choked when he realized what Deceit meant to do. 

_No…_

“Remus!” Deceit snapped. 

The fetch huffed and turned, twirling Roman’s sword and casually slicing off his own ear. Roman’s thralled eyes widened slightly…the blade had come close to his face as well…but Remus merely shrugged, picked up the severed ear, and popped the lobe into his mouth like a lollipop.

Then he sliced off his other ear.

Virgil swallowed a mouthful of bile. _What…the actual fuck._ He’d never seen a fetch with so little regard for bodily integrity.

Using the podium, he dragged his aching body up.

“Remus, stop fucking around and bring me that sword,” Deceit ordered.

“What’s that?” Remus called in a sing-song voice, waving his severed ears. “I can’t heeeeear you!”

“ _Remus!_ ” 

“Fine, you’re such a party pooper. Heehee! Poopy!”

_Who the fuck made this monster?_

“Oh, do you like him, Virgil?” Deceit accepted the sword from Remus. “The poor changeling who created him was quite skilled, but frankly unstable toward the end. Escaped before I could put it out of its misery. Before your time, of course.” 

He patted Remus’ cheek. 

“Go to Virgil, doll. He’ll fix your ears.”

Virgil gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. 

Remus bounded over, still grinning, blood oozing from his head and turning to dirt even as Virgil watched. He shuddered; Remus looked enough like Roman that seeing him injured like this, even though he _knew_ it wasn’t actually Roman, ratcheted up his anxiety. 

He felt Deceit at his back; a cold hand unfolded his clenched fingers and pressed a small, sharp object into them.

The moment stretched out, endless. 

Virgil stared at the threaded bone needle in his palm, then at Remus. 

Logan and Roman both stood a short distance away, thralled, unable to move, but they were watching. 

They would see everything.

“Go on, Virgil.” Deceit circled the podium, his hands spread. “You know what to do. Unless…there’s some reason why you’d rather keep certain things a secret from your friends?”

“Don’t,” Virgil rasped softly.

“What?” Deceit grinned, fangs glinting. “Maybe I just meant your _name_.”

“Don’t!” 

“Perhaps that’s why it’s always been so easy for you to fall back into my grasp,” the faery hissed. “You want this. You _miss_ it.”

Deceit seized Remus’ scruff and forced him to his knees, ignoring the fetch’s commentary (“ooh, I _like_ this position!), and snatched an ear from the floor where Remus had left it. 

Virgil closed his eyes as Deceit’s cold fingers settled over his, positioning the needle, lining up the ear to Remus’ head. 

_This was how we did my first corpse._

“I just want you to be honest with yourself,” the faery said in an oddly gentle voice. “Why am I making you do this?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil muttered through clenched teeth.

He swore he felt Logan’s burning gaze in particular. 

Deceit shook his head, backing away and leaving Virgil hunched over Remus, needle in his hand: a tiny, glinting accusation.

“Try again. Why am I making you do this?”

“Because I was one of them!” Virgil yelled, a tear breaking free and sliding down his face. “Because I was a fetch-maker.” The words spilled out like poison. “Because I was _your_ fetch-maker.”

The words settled on Virgil’s heart, damning him.

He raised his head to Logan and Roman. 

Thralled, they could do nothing but stare back, their faces artificially expressionless. Knowing that did nothing to stop the tears. 

“And you were _good_ , Virgil,” Deceit added. “Own it! Fix the fetch.” The faery made a dismissive gesture. “And I’ll let you fix Logan when I borrow his hands, as my gift to you.”

Virgil sucked in a shuddering breath. 

He couldn’t let the faery win. He couldn’t let him _cut off Logan’s hands._

“Roman,” he called, coughing with the effort. “His power is lies! Fight it!” He coughed again, doubling over. “I know you hate me, but…please.”

“Oh, no, we can’t have any of that.” 

Deceit raised his hand and Virgil knew he meant to silence him, or worse. 

Desperately he tapped into his power; waves of vines broke through the stone floor to entangle Deceit’s legs, then his arms, then his clawed hands, ripping Roman’s sword away. The faery snarled, slashing, but Virgil screamed and pushed harder. 

The Arcadian soil drank his magic like the Arden Dryad's branch and he reveled in it, ignoring the crackling in his chest…

The faery was such a mass of thick tangled vines and leaves and thorns that only his bowler hat was visible. Virgil collapsed, coughing, stars dancing in front of his eyes. Blood dripped from his open mouth onto the stones; he knew, dimly, that his insides were probably such a mess of thorns now that drawing on his power again would kill him.

The mass of vines swore and trembled as Deceit struggled to cut his way out. 

It held…for now…but Virgil was spent. 

He needed help.

He needed Roman.

“Roman,” he rasped, “please. You need a truth...”

Roman didn’t move, but more alarmingly, Remus (still earless) grabbed around his unresisting neck and started to shake him back and forth.

“Wakey, wakey, brother mine, you’re no fun when you can’t fight back!” 

_Wait…is the stupid fetch trying to_ help _now?_

A claw-less hand forced its way out of the vines and twisted in a familiar gesture. Virgil’s heart skipped when the pendant on his chest went cold and he realized what was going on. 

The faery was _trying_ to silence Virgil, it just _wasn’t working_. 

_There must be just enough power in Logan’s pendant to ward off specific,_ targeted _actions._

_And Remus is suddenly…_ luckily _…helping Roman._

Roman, whose eyes were dark and focused despite being thralled. 

Hell, Roman’s luck was probably the only reason Remus had decided to draw dicks on his face instead of gleefully murdering them all. It was likely why Deceit had neglected to put Rapunzel and Virgil to sleep like the rest, why he kept allowing himself to get distracted. 

Why he was currently trapped.

But luck was ephemeral. It was up to them to take advantage of it. 

Virgil staggered over and shoved Remus aside, grabbing the knife from his leg holster, brandishing it until the fetch let go.

“Did you know knives are phallic symbols?” Remus said, tilting his chin down and waggling his eyebrows. “Careful, Virgil. You’re basically pointing a dick at me. Wouldn’t want Roman here to get jealous.”

“Oh my god, just shut up!” Virgil snapped. 

Dizziness washed over him as he leaned his head against Roman’s shoulder for a moment. If he could just _catch his breath_ …but he couldn’t stop. 

“I swear, Roman, if I could free you another way…but,” Virgil murmured, closing his eyes. He took another trembly breath. “ _You love me more than I love you._ ”

_Truth is a flower._

And sometimes the only line between a cure and a poison is dosage.

Yellow flashed. A shudder wracked Roman’s body. 

Fingers came up to brush Virgil’s head…and abruptly shoved him away. Virgil staggered and fell, too weak to keep his balance. Roman scrubbed a hand over his sharpie-smeared face. He looked like he’d been kicked in the gut; his dark eyes were wet and furious.

But he was free.

“You really are the worst,” he spat, shakily. “And _all this time_ you were a...a...”

Virgil set his jaw. 

_Fetch-maker._

Roman approached and some of the anger bled away, replaced with shock.

“Gods, what…” He touched Virgil’s face, his neck, his hands. “What have you done to yourself?”

Virgil looked down at his hands and blanched; every vein stood out, angry and darkly, unnaturally green. Given Roman’s stricken expression, he guessed the rest of his body looked the same. 

He coughed again, wiping his face and oh, that…that _was_ a lot of blood. 

His black tank top was soaked with it. 

Roman tugged him to his feet and he swayed, dizzy and sick.

“There’s no…time,” Virgil managed. “You’ve got to kill him…before he gets out.” He gestured weakly toward the podium. “End this, Roman.”

Roman’s face hardened and he nodded. 

Virgil sank to his knees as the other changeling collected his sword and hacked at the mass of vines that was the trapped faery. His pulse pounded in his head, almost drowning out the sound of slashing greenery; his body ached. 

He couldn’t breathe without wheezing. 

_At least this will be over._

“Virgil!” Roman nearly squeaked. 

Virgil’s head shot up and adrenaline set his whole system on fire again. Roman had torn the vined mass to bits…but the faery was missing. 

All that was left was a vaguely person-shaped void. 

“Where did he _go_?” Roman shouted, looking frantically around the room. 

Virgil struggled back to his feet, wishing he had the strength to kick himself. _You know he can turn into a snake, you idiot, he escaped while you were distracted with Roman…!_

Between one breath and the next, he met Roman’s gaze from the podium.

Something seized his jacket from behind and pain exploded between his shoulder blades.

Time slowed down.

Dumbly he looked down at the four bloody inches of faery claw protruding from his chest. Were he not being held, he would have crumpled like a fetch. 

A cold pair of lips brushed his ear.

“Oh, changeling,” Deceit murmured, twisting his hand just enough to send pain ripping again through the spreading numbness. “You did try.”

There was screaming.

He tried to inhale but choked on blood. 

Someone…not him…was screaming, but it echoed hollow and far away to his dulling senses. 

Black spread across his vision. 

A figure barreled toward them, sword flashing...Roman, his face twisted into something almost unrecognizable.

It didn’t matter.

Too late.

Too late…

Already Deceit was moving, claw beginning to slide wetly out of Virgil’s back. The pain was its own raging, snarling beast, so immense he couldn’t even feel it. 

His brain was shutting down. 

Deceit would kill Roman while Virgil bled out. He would kill Logan, and Patton, and Kate, and Rosa, and Rapunzel, and all the other hunters Kate had brought… 

_No._

_If I have to die…_

Time slowed.

_…he fucking dies with me!_

With the last of his strength Virgil seized the claw in his chest and sank into his magic.

The claw itself shuddered, drawing a startled noise from the faery, and twisted, rippling into bark and plant flesh and spreading out, trapping it in Virgil’s body. A thousand tiny white hemlock blossoms burst from between his fingers, boiling out from his own blood like bubbles, turning crimson as they soaked it in. Vines burst from the floor and twined up, trapping them both further. 

Deceit swore in Faery, tugging harder.

Something slender and metallic whistled past Virgil’s cheek. There was an awful crunch; wetness spattered across his face. The molten rod in his chest went limp and slithered out and then he was falling……there were arms and wet fingers and a pair of wide, red-ringed eyes…

Freezing, limbs like ice; his body numb but for his burning heart. But even that was fading…

He was fading…

“Virgil!” a scarlet ochre voice sobbed. “Virgil, don’t do this… _stay with me_ …!”

That color was the last thing to bleed from his mind’s eye.

Virgil succumbed to nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hemlock:  
>  _you will cause my death_


	44. Epilogue: Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've said all along that everyone will get the ending they need, if not the one they necessarily wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac  
> "It's Quiet Uptown" from Hamilton  
> "Into the Open Air" from Brave

Painter’s Pond glittered with fireflies in the stifling October air. Orange sunbeams made dark shadows under the trees; in a few minutes, the sunset would be truly spectacular.

Yellow streamers hung from tree branches; citronella tiki torches separated the party area from the rest of the park. A single long table had been set up off to one side, stacked with paper plates and utensils, ready to receive guest offerings. Several more round tables laid with navy cloths ringed the empty center space. 

The setup was a mix of whimsical and practical, joyful and serene, as unconcerned with appearances as the eclectic couple it celebrated. 

Virgil slid his plate of thumbprint jam cookies (Crofters, of course) onto the long table and wrapped hoodie-clad arms around himself. He’d debated showing up to this party for so long that in the end he’d panicked about being late and, predictably, arrived way too early. 

Patton and Logan weren’t even here yet.

He took a deep, careful breath, rubbing the raised scar under his purple dress shirt. It didn’t ache, just now, but Virgil had learned not to push himself. He wandered, his pace slow and halting, ghosting fingers over the dark tablecloths that reminded him of Logan’s apartment, touching the hanging golden streamers that screamed _Patton_.

_In another lifetime_ , Virgil thought wistfully, _would they have been purple instead of gold?_

The thought didn’t hurt as much as it would have, three months ago.

“Virge?” a sunny voice said hesitantly.

Virgil turned to see Patton, wide-eyed and handsome in a turquoise button down and black slacks. His ginger curls were shorter and neater than when Virgil had last seen them, making him look older, but the bright blue eyes behind their round glasses were the same.

Virgil straightened his own tie, suddenly nervous. 

_Maybe they didn’t really want me to come, maybe Kate was wrong, what if they’re still mad at me…_

“Oh my gosh, Virgil, you’re really here!”

And there was the bear hug, warm and soft and knocking Virgil’s breath right out of him. 

“Kate said she told you the date but I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Patton rambled into his hoodie. “Did you fly in today? I’m just so glad to see you!” 

Virgil huffed against Patton’s hair, patting the other’s back.

“Slowly, padre,” he rasped. “Lungs aren’t exactly what they used to be.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry!” Patton stumbled back, raising his hands. “Did I hurt you? How are you healing up, anyway?”

Virgil rubbed his chest again. “It’s…well. Could have been a lot worse.”

Patton nodded, his eyes solemn. 

“Walk with me?” he offered, pulling a lighter from his pocket. “Gotta get the torches going or the mosquitoes will eat us alive.”

The two circled the grove in silence for a while, Patton lighting torches and Virgil following at a distance. After maybe half the torches were flickering merrily and the sun lay heavy and low on the trees, Patton finally spoke.

“Everyone visited, you know, when you were in the hospital…asleep.”

Virgil chuckled bitterly. “You mean when I was in a medically induced coma for two and a half weeks after coding twice on the operating table, Patton. You can say it.”

Patton smiled weakly.

“Seriously, though,” Virgil added softly, laying a hand on the other’s shoulder. “The nurses told me if you all hadn’t stabilized me, I would have bled out on the way to the hospital.”

“Those two semesters of actual medical school I took really came in handy.” Patton’s hand shook a little as he lit another torch. “Between my knowledge, Logan’s freezing powers, his mom’s ability to manipulate flesh, and…” 

He trailed off, glancing sideways at Virgil. 

Virgil’s mouth twisted and he shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“I know. Every doctor that came in my room kept telling me how _damned lucky_ I was. I know it was mostly Roman’s power that saved me.”

“It very nearly wasn’t enough,” Patton said quietly. “Have you…have you heard from him at all?”

“Roman?” Virgil sighed, looking out at the sunset. “No. Not since he killed Deceit.”

Patton nodded sadly. 

“Me either. He was there the whole time you were under; he sang to you, when your heart stopped on the table. But after that…not even Kate knows where he went.”

Virgil’s fingers guiltily caressed a folded, worn piece of paper in his pocket. A note written in sparkly red gel pen, left in Virgil’s hoodie where he’d be sure to find it. Stumbling, scratched-out words, about needing to find his father, about anger and forgiveness but most of all, a plea for time. Time to find himself, time to process everything that had happened. 

It was flowery and overwrought and passionate, exactly like Roman himself. Virgil had read it so many times now he could recite it from memory.

“I was hoping he would show up tonight.” Patton pouted as they lit the last torch. “But as far as I know, Kate and Rosa are coming alone.”

Virgil nodded sadly, not having expected anything else. 

He wandered to one of the smaller tables, picking up a photo frame. Every table held photos: small ones and larger ones, various snapshots of Logan and Patton together. Most had been taken by Roman, some of the more recent ones by Patton’s coworkers…and a few by Virgil himself. 

He hadn’t been able to turn down Patton’s request for pictures a month ago, even after enduring a phone call full of Patton’s excited squeeing over a proposal and a ring and Logan, Logan, _Logan_ …

Said ring glinted on Patton’s hand as he, too, picked up a frame. Virgil studiously ignored it. Instead he stared at the slightly blurry photo of Logan in his hand. One of the half-faery’s quiet smiles faced back, a grinning, slightly blurry Patton cradled loosely under his arm. 

Virgil wondered if the warm aching pressure under his heart would ever go away.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispered, sending a shiver down Virgil’s spine.

“…what?” 

He turned and to his shock, saw tears glittering in Patton’s eyes.

He knew.

Oh gods, Patton knew.

Patton reached out to touch Virgil’s arm, just a brush of fingertips. It was his left hand, though, and Virgil’s eyes were drawn again to the silver band, stark and lovely against Patton’s freckled finger. 

He bit his lip and Patton quickly withdrew his hand, twisting the ring. 

A small, awkward silence fell between them.

“I always thought you’d be upset,” Virgil admitted in a small voice. “When Deceit disguised himself as you, he confronted me about…my feelings, and he…you…were so angry. Sometimes I have a hard time remembering that _wasn’t_ you, because he was right, Patton. I’ve been an awful friend and—”

“I _am_ upset,” Patton interrupted sternly, startling Virgil into silence. “But not for reasons that manipulative bastard could imagine.”

He took a breath. “I am upset that you let me walk over your feelings. I am upset that you let me betray your trust, that you let me hurt you with this. And I am angry that you never, in all that time, said a word!”

Patton’s voice cracked on the last word, and Virgil’s heart with it. He gritted his teeth and turned, hiding how his own eyes stung.

“I didn’t know how,” he murmured. “At first because of the whole misunderstanding of you thinking I liked Roman, and then…” His shoulders drooped. “Then you were both just so happy. I mean, Logan… _Logan_ was happy, and I could tell because I lived with the guy, you know?” 

He rubbed his neck with one shaking hand. 

“Who was I to ruin that with my stupid feelings?”

A tear escaped and rolled down his face, then another, and crap, now his eyeshadow was going to be a mess and the party hadn’t even started yet. Patton sighed and pulled a tissue pack from his pocket. 

Virgil chuckled wetly.

“Prepared for criers?” he snarked, taking a tissue and scrubbing his face.

Patton smiled sadly. “You know how emotional I get. And your feelings aren’t stupid.”

Virgil sniffed. “You should hate me.”

Patton put the tissues away, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“I have a confession to make, Virgil.” He adjusted his glasses, the gesture another stab to Virgil’s heart. “And by all rights, you should hate _me_ afterwards.”

Virgil frowned.

Patton took a deep breath.

“I…knew.”

“Well…yeah, you just said,” Virgil started in confusion.

“No!” Patton bit his lip, hard. “I…I suspected you liked Logan from the start.”

He refused to meet Virgil’s stunned gaze, his cheeks reddening as he talked. 

“I am an empath, after all; and you are, in a word, _loud_. At first I rationalized my own fascination with Logan by telling myself surely those feelings of yours _had_ to be for Roman, because Roman had feelings even a stone would feel.”

Virgil huffed, and Patton smiled uncomfortably.

“Yeah, well. Then when Logan started showing interest in me, inviting me to hang out, I talked myself into believing he was just a cool dude I could get to know, that I just wanted to be friends, that I wasn’t encroaching on anything…”

Every interaction he’d had with Patton during those months flashed through Virgil’s mind, newly colored.

“And then he and I kept getting closer and it was just…simpler, to get swept away in a new relationship.” Patton went on, his voice darkening. “To let you pull away, to pretend everything was fine, that I couldn’t feel you hurting. And then after Roman left, I kept pretending you were just missing him.” 

Patton sighed, picking up a photo frame again. 

“I know why you left, back in May. And I’m so… _so_ sorry, for my part in it.”

Virgil looked away, his gaze momentarily snagging on the flash of silver on Patton’s hand again. 

Patton looked down at the photo he held again, face twisted in something like adoration, something like pain.

“I just…I fell so hard and so fast. I couldn’t give him up and I stole him from you. Does…does that make me a bad person?”

Virgil realized that he had a choice. 

He could let this wreck every future interaction he ever had with Patton, let it break their friendship the same way Patton had helped break his heart. He might even be justified in doing so.

Or…

Virgil sighed, and pulled the other changeling in for a hug. Patton allowed it for several moments, before stepping back and confusedly dabbing at his own face. 

“I…I don’t understand,” Patton admitted.

“I keep telling myself,” Virgil said at last, “if Logan had ever wanted anything more, with me,” and he swallowed hard, “he would have pursued it. What you did wasn’t _nice_ , sure, but…you didn’t steal him, Patton.”

He remembered the words Roman had thrown at him, the night of their fight.

“You didn’t steal him because, me and him, it was never gonna happen,” he admitted. “He wanted you.” 

He paused to wipe his eyes, and gave his friend a smile that almost felt genuine.

“He’s always wanted you.”

Patton smiled; a wobbly, melancholy thing. 

Other guests had started to arrive while they were talking, and Virgil became painfully aware of how his face must look. 

“Look, I’m gonna go fix my eyeshadow, but one more question, Pat?”

Patton nodded.

“Does…” Virgil gulped when he spotted a familiar blue Fit pulling into the nearby parking lot. “Does Logan know?”

“No,” Patton said softly. “At least…I don’t think so.”

Virgil nodded shakily, watching as Logan got out and opened the trunk. Nicodemus bounded out with a joyful bark, tearing across the park almost immediately. Virgil bit back a chuckle as Logan yelled after him.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Patton smiled again and petted Virgil’s arm, and skipped off to help his fiancé. 

Virgil parked himself at a table and got out his eyeshadow palette. Weirdly, he felt _better_ ; like some last bit of poison he’d unknowingly kept simmering inside had been leeched away. 

By the time he’d reapplied the black around his eyes and straightened the purple and black tie he’d created for the occasion, the long table had been loaded with food and Nic had found him, licking Virgil’s face with such gusto that he feared he’d have to reapply his makeup _again_.

A small acoustic band had set up near the open space. The lead singer wore the floweriest shirt Virgil had ever seen, and kept fixing his swoopy brown hair as he smiled and greeted people. One of the members wore a bright orange beanie and had brought, to Virgil’s melancholy amusement, a ukulele. 

He wondered if Roman still had the ukulele that Logan had given him…if he’d ever even learned to play it properly.

Kate and Rosa showed up, followed by Rapunzel and two strangers: an older, well-dressed black man with glasses, gloves, and a head of epically tall, graying hair, and a petite woman with short, bright ginger hair and two prosthetic legs. Virgil had to keep his jaw from hitting the table when the couple was introduced as Rumplestiltzkin, ie, the _other_ signer of the Accords, and Red Riding Hood, another Founder Grimm. 

Rapunzel came over to peck Virgil’s cheek, making him blush furiously, and he was finally able to properly thank her for helping to save his life. 

Virgil was fiercely pleased that Patton’s “family” had apparently not been invited…though Patton squealed at the arrival of a slender young man in a brown cardigan and a pink tie, who turned out to be Patton’s brother Emile. 

Nic, tongue hanging out and tail going ninety miles a minute, weaved in and out of the growing throng, happily lapping up attention. Even the pixie trio made an appearance, flitting around, scolding, and generally making nuisances of themselves, but they fled when Patton’s human coworkers began showing up.

Then there was eating, and talking, and dancing once the band got going; the latter two, Virgil was perfectly happy to skip. He observed from his chair at the outermost table, scowling whenever anyone raised an eyebrow at his choice of attire. 

Just because people didn’t _normally_ wear a hoodie over a formal shirt didn’t make it _wrong._

One particular changeling, a heavily bearded, stone-faced older man, stalked over with his plate to sulk with Virgil, ate, never said a word, nodded exactly once, and abruptly left once it got dark. 

Virgil stared after him in bewilderment.

“I see you have met Hunter.” 

Logan slid into the man’s vacated seat. Virgil’s heart leapt somewhere into his throat, mostly because the half-faery startled him but also because Logan, as usual, looked painfully _good._

He’d come glamoured, of course, for the sake of Patton’s coworkers, so his ear tips and white streaked hair were only visible to Virgil and the other changelings. He wore his usual black and navy ensemble, but paired with a waist-cinching vest and a gold tie that mirrored the quiet effervescence of his demeanor. 

Logan was happy; painfully, confidently happy, and it both tore at Virgil’s heart and made him want to protect that happiness from anyone who’d want to shatter it. 

Even himself.

“You remember, right?” Logan tilted his head.

Virgil shook himself out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry, what?”

“You recall the night a friend called to tell me about the Hedge gap in DeLand, and later I went with him to find it?” Logan gestured in the direction the gruff man had gone. “That was Alan Hunter. He doesn’t warm up to people easily; frankly, I am surprised he accepted my invitation at all.”

Virgil hummed, looking at the table and twisting his empty water cup. 

“Well. He managed to find the only person here as anti-social as himself, so there’s that.”

Logan chuckled. “I do recall saying that you two would likely get along.”

For a while, they watched the party. The band did some popular covers and one or two original songs; almost everyone was on the dance “floor”. Patton danced with Rapunzel, spinning her with surprising skill while she laughed. 

Logan watched the two with a small, satisfied smile. 

Virgil felt the familiar urge to reach out and brush fingers across that precious expression, to follow fingers with lips…but to his surprise, the feeling wasn’t thorny like it used to be. It was softer, redder, more melancholy. 

More like a favorite, well-worn memory than an actual aching need. 

“I am glad you are healing, Virgil,” Logan said, and for one stunned second Virgil was sure Logan was talking about his feelings. But no, the half-faery nodded towards Virgil’s heart.

He rubbed his chest, tracing the edges of his scar. “I’m only alive thanks to all of you.”

“I wish…I could have done more, to protect you against Deceit.” Logan frowned. 

“Logan, you did everything you could have possibly—” Virgil protested, but Logan silenced him with a lifted finger.

“No, let me finish. You proved yourself more capable in that throne room than I thought possible, and it is entirely my own failure of imagination that I never saw it until that moment.” Logan sighed, twisting his hands on the table. “In my zeal to keep you safe, I believe I suffocated you. And then when Patton and I got together, I ignored you. It was unfair, and unkind of me.”

Virgil swallowed, and looked away.

“Kind of, yeah,” he agreed, and to his surprise, felt the tiniest spark of anger in his chest. Sure, Virgil had been a dick for leaving as he had, but Logan…really _hadn’t_ treated him all that well, towards the end, had he?

_None of us are innocent._

Logan leaned forward and laid a hand over Virgil’s forearm, making all his senses prickle. 

“Our friendship may have begun on profoundly uneven ground, but for what it is worth, I have missed it. Wherever you decide to go after this, please do not be a stranger. Our door will always be open.”

Logan’s hand was a cool, comforting weight on his arm; and for once, Virgil wanted it to be enough. 

He wanted _this_ to be enough.

“Sure, nerd,” he said softly, daring to catch Logan’s intense gaze. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Logan smiled. “Satisfactory.” 

Patton waved at Logan from the dance floor, gesturing for him to come over. Virgil chuckled and waved him on, smirking when Patton grabbed the half-faery’s hand and spun into his arms. 

“How long are you gonna let that boy keep breaking your heart?” a wrenchingly familiar voice said.

Virgil’s heart stopped.

“Roman,” he breathed.

Roman stepped into the light, half-smiling at Virgil’s stunned expression, and folded himself into the twice-abandoned seat.

Virgil’s heart did something complicated as he took in the other changeling’s familiar presence: wild, sun-touched mane of hair; strong, wide shoulders under a crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows; dark, mischievous eyes. 

Eyes that were sadder than they used to be.

“Hey, Stormcloud,” Roman said simply.

“I…you’re here.” Virgil shook his head. 

Roman raised an eyebrow.

“So are you.”

_Touché_ , Virgil thought.

“It’s just…I didn’t think you’d want to come,” he said, looking away.

Roman scoffed, looking out to where Logan and Patton were swaying in each others’ arms. “They’re my friends, too, you know.”

“No, I mean…” Virgil stopped, passing a hand through his bangs. “I didn’t think you’d want to run into _me_.”

“To be honest, I didn’t know if you’d show up for this.” Roman snuck a glance at him, his face darkening. “But you do have this habit of wandering right into situations where you know you’ll get hurt.”

Virgil’s hand unconsciously crept up to his heart. 

“It’s not like that,” he said. “Not this time.”

He didn’t want to fight with Roman tonight. He wished, for the millionth time, that they weren’t so good at riling each other up. 

Roman looked away and ran hands through his hair.

Maybe he was tired of fighting, too.

“Did you ever track down Johnny?” Virgil asked, changing the subject. “I found your note.”

Roman smiled sadly. “Nah. Forget that bastard. If he didn’t care about baby-me, why the fuck would he care now?” 

Virgil chuckled as a thought occurred to him. 

“You know, it’s funny how I’ve always called you Princey, and then it turns out you actually are a Prince? Like, what are the odds?”

A sharp smile lifted one side of Roman’s mouth, but not the other. 

“I think I’ll keep Reis, thanks.” He sighed. “Funny story: I did manage to find Remus. He’d disappeared by the time we’d gotten you sorted out. Took me weeks to figure out that psychotic fetch had gone back to the last place I expected: home.”

“Did he…did he have his ears?” For some reason that was all Virgil could think of.

“Yeah, somehow.” Roman exhaled. “I meant to kill him.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here?” 

“But I didn’t, because for some Fae-cursed reason, he actually fucking cares about our mother.” Roman shook his head. “For all the illegal shit he’s done, he’s never hurt her, never abandoned her. Always makes sure she’s provided for, even from jail.”

“And because of who I am…thanks _Dad_ …I can’t just step in and take Remus's place in her life. I can’t abandon Smile.” Roman shrugged. “I let him go because he loves Mom, in his own demented way, and I believe he’d always look out for her.”

“Deceit…” he shook his head, smiling bitterly, “Deceit may have actually been _right_. Maybe fetches are a kindness.”

Virgil dared to lay a hesitant hand over Roman’s arm. Which he quickly withdrew when Roman tensed up. The other ran a hand through his hair; he’d only bleached it, this time around; the streaks stark and blond against his natural chocolate brown. 

“I don’t blame you, you know,” he said lowly. “For…for the fetch-making. It wasn’t anything you chose to do.” His mouth twisted. “Before we fought that faery, I think I would have hated it, would have hated you for hiding it from me. But seeing him taunt you with it…he made you feel disgusting for something _he_ made you do, and. And that’s wrong.”

Virgil felt tears pricking at his eyes. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to hear that.

“I’m sorry!” Virgil found himself blurting out. “For what I said, to break you out of that thrall.”

Roman’s face became unreadable. 

“It was only the truth. It wouldn’t have worked, otherwise.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Roman only hummed in acknowledgement, and Virgil didn’t dare push it. For a while, they watched the dancing.

“You were right, you know,” Roman said softly. 

Virgil looked at him. The tiki torch light lit his face soft and honeyed. Roman continued to stare straight ahead.

“I was jealous of the nerd,” he admitted. “I hated how oblivious he was to the way you looked at him, when you’re so…”

He met Virgil’s gaze and looked away again, his cheeks darkening. 

“Radiant.”

Virgil swallowed hard, his heart doing that light, breathless thing again.

“I couldn’t figure out what I was doing _wrong_ ,” Roman went on. “And then this whole thing happened,” he waved a hand at Logan and Patton, “and you were hurting so bad, all the time, and I was helpless. I hated it, hated _him_ , the whole time I was in Philly and you were still here.”

“And now?” Virgil asked hesitantly.

“I left because I realized that competing with him was stupid. I needed to stop trying to be enough. Enough for a smart half-faery bastard, enough for a father who apparently wanted nothing to do with me, even enough for Kate. But most of all…enough for you.” His jaw clenched. “I either am, or I’m not.”

“You are,” Virgil murmured, his cheeks heating.

“Can I ask you something?” Roman turned to face him fully, eyes soft and vulnerable. 

“What we had in Philly, when we were training, when you…” He looked away, rubbing his cheek….the one Virgil remembered kissing.

Virgil traced his scar, weighing his words.

“I do miss it, you know,” he said at last, and frowned. “Well, not the workouts; those fucking sucked.”

Roman smirked, his dimple showing.

“I mean, I won’t lie. I don’t think it was what you wanted, but it was…” Virgil allowed himself a small smile. “Real. And I wouldn’t be…averse…to trying again.”

“What about _that_?” Roman asked lowly, nodding towards the dancing again.

Patton had taken to pressing tiny kisses to Logan’s cheeks after every spin, making the other sputter in flustered embarrassment. 

Again, Virgil felt that familiar ache…but again, softer, redder, more like a memory.

“When we were fighting Deceit,” he said softly. “Rapunzel told me that truth is a flower.” 

Virgil looked down at his pale hands, at the veins that would probably always be too dark, too green. They’d told him in the hospital that his lungs were criss-crossed in scars quite apart from the great gaping hole they’d had to sew up, and that they would always be weak. Fatigue and chronic shortness of breath would be constant companions.

Loving Logan had nearly killed him. Even now, looking at the half-faery felt like prodding the edges of a scar he’d always carry. 

He knew he could let himself keep looking forever, anyway. 

Or…

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it,” Virgil said. “Flowers have a cycle. They bud, and bloom, and…they fade.”

Virgil looked at Logan, eyes tracing the beloved lines of a face that had haunted his dreams for so long. Kate and Rosa spun between them, momentarily blocking Virgil’s view, their eyes full of love for each other. 

He met Roman’s dark, sad gaze. 

“Maybe some truths are the same way. Maybe they have cycles.” Virgil took a deep breath. “People change, Roman. Feelings…change.”

Roman looked back at the happy couple, but something in his posture sharpened.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely over him,” Virgil warned, glancing sideways at Logan again. “But maybe moving on is not the same as moving forward. Maybe I just have to be mindful, of what I feel. Self aware. I guess…sadness shapes a different world.” 

Virgil huffed out a soft laugh. “‘ _There are moments that the words don’t reach_ ’,” he added, singing softly. “' _There’s a grace too powerful to name…_ ’”

After a long moment, it was Roman who slipped a hand over Virgil’s.

“ _It’s quiet uptown_ ,” he sang back.

Neither pulled away.

A sweet, low cover of “Landslide” started, couples slipping arms around each other and shuffling close. Patton caught Virgil’s eye from behind Logan’s shoulder, blue eyes widening when he saw Roman. He whispered something in Logan’s ear, causing the half-faery to turn as well. 

Roman gave them both a sheepish wave, which they returned. 

“ _i took my love, i took it down_  
_climbed a mountain and i turned around_ ”

“Well, my Emo Nightmare, would you like to dance?” Roman asked, offering a hand.

Virgil snorted at him. “Do I look like I dance, Sir Sing-a-Lot?”

Roman laughed aloud. Oh, there was that loud, annoying, concussive laugh; something Virgil had not missed…except, maybe he had. 

Kind of.

“It was worth a try.” Roman’s voice dropped. “Let’s get out of here. Get a coffee, throw some knives.” His eyes widened. “Maybe not both of those at the same time.”

Virgil turned back to the dancing couples swaying in the tiki lantern light, the lead singer’s soft crooning filling the grove with music. 

“ _well, i’ve been ‘fraid of changin’_  
_‘cause i’ve built my life around you_ ”

His gaze lingered on Logan’s dark, elegant hand, resting softly against Patton’s turquoise shirt. It lingered on Logan’s gold tie, and navy vest, and the yellow streamers in the trees. 

Gold and indigo twined together on the song’s chorus, and for the first time, Virgil felt at peace with how well they blended.

“Sure, Princey,” he said, tearing his gaze away and standing up. “But you’re calling the Uber.”

“What? Why do I have to do it?” Roman whined, following Virgil toward the parking lot. “I hate that stupid app.”

“Because this was your idea.”

“You agreed to it!”

Their voices faded as they walked away. 

And if a certain pixie happened to glance down from her hiding place and smile as the two friends bickered their way across the grass…well.

_could these walls come crumbling down?_  
_i want to feel my feet on the ground_  
_and leave behind this prison we share_  
_step into the open air_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red rose:  
>  _true love_
> 
> Author's note:
> 
> Holy moly, y'all. You all have only seen the last five...five?...months of this journey, but in actuality, I started this story way back at the very beginning of this crazy year. It's going to be weird, not updating every Wednesday and Saturday.
> 
> If you've made it to the end, thank you so, _so_ much for reading. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed reading your comments and reactions, they are my daily serotonin 😀 If you came for the analogical and stayed for the prinxiety, thanks for trusting me and I wish there were better tags. This was a love triangle story before it was even a faery story, and I hope I did it justice.
> 
> I will definitely be coming back to this universe in the future. I have a whole series planned around the Grimm Founders (which probably won't be posted here; I'm hoping to get it properly published), and I feel like Virgil's and Roman's story definitely isn't finished yet. I'm also currently writing a Sanders Sides/Doctor Who pseudo-crossover and hope to have that finished in the next few months.
> 
> Anyway, this has been fun, and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have!
> 
> ~nevertherose


End file.
